


Straying Around

by patronusbro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas at Hogwarts, Gen, Good Slytherins, M/M, Mutual Pining, OCs - Freeform, Original Character(s), Pining, Quidditch, Revenge, Slytherin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4673138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patronusbro/pseuds/patronusbro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story takes place during the fifth school year of the Slytherin students Fryda Nwosu, Timothy Orger and Quentin Nall. It is Christmas time at Hogwarts and this advent throws some people into trouble. What should you do about anger? How does one deal with revenge? How with affection? Staying silent or risking to speak out – what is the better option?<br/>More info about triggers you can find at the beginning of each chapter, I am trying my best to keep every one of you safe!<br/>Disclaimer: Hogwarts, the Wizarding World and some of the side characters belong to the wonderful J.K.R.; obviously. The three main characters, most side characters and the plot are all mine.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: I need a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it begins! The plot line of this chapter was build by 13-year-old me, so please be kind. Be aware of homophobia mentions and descriptions of somebody acting violently on it (so there is also going to be violence). There is something you could call very slight gender dysphoria too.

1 – Quentin

Marcus Been's singing is unbearable. He's standing right in the middle of the common room and is entertaining half of Slytherin with his invented Christmas songs about black snow and murdered teachers.

Presumably nobody knows what is supposed to be so fantastic about it – but to be on the safe side, one has to laugh, otherwise you would quickly be labelled with a nice, flashing _outsider_ -button. Merlin, luckily Fryda is no one who likes to be a part of mass events and tasteless stuff – otherwise I would sit here pretty much on my own. She's reading through her Transfiguration book, probably for the tenth time this month (of course you have to know every detail in it by heart) and while she is doing so, she is murdering a sweet with her teeth. I can hear it crashing.

Her dark curls fall into her round face and you only can see a bit of her brown eyes behind these thick curtains. Her right hand is forming the words she is reading, like every time when she gets completely lost in one of her books. Over the course of the years I've often watched her and have learned to guess what the lines she is reading must be about. Now the moves are slow, the fingers are stretched, only the ring finger is a bit crooked, like she is gently touching something with it. Maybe she is scanning a paragraph about the history of a charm. To her the most boring part of a book, something I can't understand because the history of spells is extremely interesting, the way magicians thought about creating a charm that could solve their problem. It is especially interesting when you compare their tactics with the way new spells are being invented these days.

Fryda's finger begin to move faster, as if she was playing the piano. I can't help myself, but I have to grin. Metamorphosis of bigger animals. She starts smiling, seems to relax and breathes slower. Her green tie is hanging around her neck slightly untidily, which is something unusual because normally Fryda tries to look as neat as possible when it comes to her uniform. Possibly she's stressed. Maybe because of the advent or the homework. Maybe because of something else.

Whenever Fryda sits somewhere like this, with the hair in her face, her eyes moving, when she is sensing the words with her fingers, she is prettier than normally. Her charisma, the sphere around her is gentler, brighter than usually. I don't know if anyone besides me believes in these kind of things, but yes, you can sense the spirits around her pretty well.

“Quen? Is anything... wrong?”

“Mh?”

I didn't notice that I've been staring at her for a while.

“No, nothing. Besides that Marcus has probably lost his brain to an accident ages ago.”

She laughs and puts a strand of hair from her forehead.

“Who doesn't wonder about this? But to your information, he stopped singing a few minutes ago and left with this Melly."

“Oh.”

I swallow and my throat twinges. Merlin, why am I so absent-minded during the last days. She smiles a bit, then she looks at me in this way that gets on every last one of my nerves. It always makes me feel like she knows about everything. Everything you'd ever want to keep a secret. _Everything._

“Seriously, Quen, what is it?”

“Er – nothing, I'm a bit tired, that's all.”

I can see immediately that she doesn't believe me one bit.

“As if. You're always tired. At least around this time a day.”

“There's nothing I needed to talk about.”

“You mean, nothing you _wanted_ to talk about. Merlin, Quen, why do you have to be this... dogged, pig-headed idiot all the time? You won't loose your soul if you tell anyone a bit about yourself”, she says, but not in this squealing, arm-grabbing way, like others would say it. But in her own, calm way, with a slight smile on her lips. I can trust her. But I don't know if I want to. Not when it comes to my secrets. I try out a smile.

“It's fine. It's nothing at all. Why would I lie to you?”

“I don't know why you would. And at the moment you're not exactly lying to me, you're just trying to hide something. And why you are doing this, well, I can imagine.”

“And why, is it, then?”, I ask and do sound like a pig-headed idiot.

She gives me a look, sitting in her armchair, and it could be any normal conversation if it didn't revolve about me. Or about my secrets. Or about anything else concerning me. I start sweating. I don't want to hear what she is going to say now. I just don't want to hear it.

“You think it could make me not want you to be my friend any longer.”

I stare at her. I have to admit, I expected something different; I thought she would get all worked up, because I talk too little about myself or something along the lines that she is worrying about me. Maybe, why I always have to be so egoistic, and if I wouldn't _understand_ that she was only trying to help me. But to be honest; those wouldn't have been her words, those are no Fryda words. Those are words of my mum.

As always she understood too quickly that it wasn't something harmless, like that I was fearing the exams or that Professor Binns had asked me to dust the books in the library. Normally it is nothing bad when she understands fast. Most of the time it is the only chance for me to get rid of my problems; we are sometimes playing this game of Quen-tell-me, it-is-nothing, come-on and then I usually tell her. But not now, please not this time.

“Why should I think something like that?”

“I have no idea. You are the one who has to know.”

Again, the look. Right at me. Without widely opening her eyes or raising the eyebrows she can give me this simple look that is so good at driving me crazy.

“Stop looking at me like this, Fryda, you know that –“

“Then, sorry, but then I have to guess.”

I try to laugh. It sounds like a Puffapod being mashed. The truth is that she nearly always guesses right what is bothering me. But please not here, please not in the common room. And not now, not today. Maybe during the holiday. Rather not at all.  
“Hi, guys.”

A hand is being put on the back of my armchair. I turn around. Timothy. I am happy about an interruption, but I would have preferred if it was not _this_ kind of interruption. Damn it.  
“Hi”, I say.

“Training's over?”, Fryda asks.

“Yep.”

He lets himself fall into the opposite armchair. His favourite armchair, the one with the silver cushions and black embroideries. Tim's face is wet of sweat, his Quidditch uniform full of dirt and the shoes muddy. He puts his broom onto the little table that is standing in the middle of the three armchairs.

I have to grin, even if I don't want to. The broom is polished.

“Merlin, you can't imagine the weather outside. It's raining cats and dogs, the whole pitch is flooded and you can't see a thing. Neither the balls nor any players.”

“What about taking a shower before you make the entire common room dirty?”, Fryda asks grinning.

“Ohh, this bit of dirt”, Tim says and brushes away a piece of mud on his shoulder, it lands somewhere behind him.

“Yeah, looks very nice”, I say.

My foot starts jerking; I wish it would stop. Tim grins widely, he takes of his cap and wipes over his face and through his blond hair.  
“Just a little argument with Jason Turner.”

“And you weren't able finish him off without using a bat?”

Tim shrugs.

“He boasted about how easy it was to finish with Oli. So, what am I supposed to do? Let him talk shit about my sister? He is a complete dick, I didn't have a choice. But I was so kind to guard him to the Hospital Wing.”  
He cracks his fingers. Fryda rolls her eyes.

“That's what brothers are for, aren't they?”, she asks.

Tim and I look at each other. Then we start grinning at the same time, as we recall.

“Do you remember this thing with Dorian Weather, who –“

“Merlin, this story is too old, seriously, shut it.”

She rubs her forehead.

“Often the oldest stories are the best ones.”

“But not this one, okay? It was nothing but extremely embarrassing, having to explain to everybody that your older brothers basically trashed your ex-boyfriend.”

“Maybe it is for you, but the for the rest of the school it was very... gratifying”, Tim said with a superior grin.

“Let it be”, I say to Tim as I see that Fryda keeps getting redder.

Tim looks at me for a moment, like he wants to answer something, but he hesitates and then stands up.

“I think, I'll have that shower now.”

“Well, good luck”, Fryda says.

Tim turns around and goes up to the dormitories, my eyes wander back to Fryda. Of course she was already staring at me.

“Okay.”

“What, okay?”, I answer a little impatiently.

“Nothing.”

For a moment I am wondering whether I should nod, but then I let it be and lean into the armchair and let my eyes fall shut. I can hear the lake that is breathing around us, in its never ending rhythm. The talking of the other students in the common room. There's a very excited girl, shrieking. And then there is the distant dripping and howling of the rain.

Christmas is in two weeks. I need a decision.

❋❋❋

2 – Timothy

The water beats down onto my shoulders and my neck starts to relax, it turns smooth and warm. If this shower only had the same effect on my emotions.

I don't know why I did this. It was the first time I've ever fought with someone. Even as a child I've never brawled with anyone, it has always seemed quite unnecessary to me – if you had a wand, you did not need to use your fists. How much I was mistaken. Sometimes you did not have any other choice.

I want the water to clean my head, my brain, to clean my mind from the pictures; I want it to wipe out the memories and go back to where it was just a few hours ago, back to when everything was usual and normal and I still felt like I could handle the things in my life. 

_“And, Timmy, how's the sister? She's crying much lately?”_

_Jason's face was twisted into an arrogant grin as he shielded me from the door to the toilets. God, I have always hated him. Quidditch practice could be such a wonderful thing if I wasn't glued to him since both of us were Beaters, which made us something like partners. I have found him even more disgusting ever since he had been together with Olivia and smooched with another girl in front of her. And then told her she should have seen it coming, being as ugly and fat as she was.  
“Why would even you care?”, I answered sounding braver than I felt._

_“Sweet thing, your sister. Would make me very sad if I knew she was crying because of me.”_

_“Piss off, Jason.”_

_“Ooh... you trying to scare me? You're no 5'6'', remember, kid.”_

_“Height has nothing to do with greatness.”_

_“Nice motto. If I am allowed to ask, how... great are you, then?”_

_I swallowed. He was more than one head taller than me, and way more muscular. But he was alone and his breath smelled like firewhiskey, he was definitely drunk. Which was probably the reason he had played like shit before._

_“If you could let me pass now...”, I said._

_“Merlin, you can't even talk like a normal person, can you?_ If you could let me pass now... if the gracious gentleman could take a step to the side... _You gay or something, Timothy Orger?«_

_“I said, piss off.”_

_His laughter was loud and hollow. I could see the others in the changing-room looking down to the floor; Jason was the oldest, the strongest and he had his Beater's bat. And you wouldn't mess with him if you wanted to survive the day, he had to many thug mates, one word from him and you would be followed around for some weeks, if not months._

_“Do you only act like you're stupid or are you really? I said Piss off and if you've got a bit of brains you'd know that it's now time for you to go.”_

_The reaction came unexpected; he punched me in the stomach. I doubled over. Flash of lightning showed in front of me eyes. I could hear the others pant._

_“Okay, Jason, now, stop it”, said Henry, the captain, quite harshly._

_Jason didn't listen to him, why would he. With his hand he pressed the air out of my throat and knocked me against the wall. A terrible noise left my mouth. I could feel his fingernails pressing into the flesh of my neck, his hand was sticky, sweaty._

_“You are trying to threaten me?”, he asked._

_I tried to breath, but my neck burnt like fire. The strength was leaving my body like air left a balloon and his hand moved even closer around my neck, I struggled against the grip._

_“Look how he's hanging here. Faggot! You're so gay that I'm getting sick of it!”_

_I closed my eyes. The wall against my back was hard, I could feel how my spine was getting shoved against it. The sour smell of Jason's breath made his way up my nose into my brain and my thoughts. Why the fuck was nobody helping me? ___

_“You are probably asking yourself – how come he knows about this?”_

_I tried to open my eyes, slowly. Expressionless faces. They didn't want to give him any reason for attacking them, they didn't have the guts._

_“His sister told me”, Jason said a bit louder, now to the other players, “That he liked dressing himself up as a girl, when he was younger. That he likes reading love novels. That his whole diary is full of pictures of naked men.”_

_My heart beat faster and faster, at the same time, I had the feeling that my lungs stood still, that they would never move again, that they were slowly filling with liquid, what the hell was he talking about. I tried to break away and Jason turned around to me again._

_“Didn't expect this, did you? Maybe you shouldn't trust everyone who says they nice to you, hm?”_

_And he spat in my face. The feeling of his saliva on my skin was the most disgusting thing I have ever felt, and I have had some nasty contacts with Bludgers and bats. Although my eyes were closed, his empty, drunk look had burnt itself onto my retina. My legs hung weakly in the air and without further thinking my training reflexes took overhand, I angled a knee and kicked forward._

_Now it was Jason who doubled over. I sled down the wall and touched my throat, it felt broken and sore. I tried to cough and a gurgling sound came out, my blood felt like it was boiling, bubbling, exploding. I stood up again, slowly. Jason was about to get up from the floor too, his eyes half-opened, his pupils hidden. I could see that the others were staring at me._

_“What?”, I asked and it sounded like hadn't talked in months. I tried to concentrate on my breath, it grew faster, just like my anger. My vision turned red. I saw the scene in flashes. Henry, looking worried. The old benches in the dressing room, with the bags of the others and their uniforms on them. My hands, trembling. Jason, kneeling, a wide grin. Then my foot hit his face._

I lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling. If stares could light things up, it would be on fire. My teeth are biting strongly on my lip, trying to cut it, my fingers are drumming on the skin of my chest, creating a weirdly satisfying noise. I try to breath as quietly as possible, still it seems terribly loud to me. I don't want Quentin to hear that I am so shaken; after all he would know that the panting belongs to me – we are the only ones in the dorm.

Marcus, Gus and Steve informed us earlier today that they would not return to it this evening, that they would stay away the whole night. With a grin on their lips that made me sick; after all they are not much different from Jason.

The three have never been my friends, with the way they felt superior to everybody else, the way their bodies spoke of full-grown arrogance, with the way the treated girls. Yet there has always existed some kind of silent solidarity within our dorm when it came to breaking rules and doing forbidden things, like staying at the girl's dorm over night or smuggling in alcohol. You simply did not blow the whistle on someone you have been sleeping in the same dormitory with for five years.

Quen has never liked them, he told me that they were idiots on our first day at Hogwarts. How he came to this realisation so quickly, I never understood and of course he wouldn't tell me back then. To be honest, he wouldn't do it now if I asked him. He's no one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Sure, he is my best friend and sometimes we understand each other without words, I know I can always trust him and he has shown many times how loyal he is to me an Fryda, but this doesn't mean that I know much about him. Basically he is an unwritten, blank sheet of paper, he doesn't share information about himself easily. I could just as well read his passport; I am still only getting to know him after all the years. But I need him. Very much. More than I want to admit sometimes.

_Faggot! You're so gay that I'm getting sick of it!_

If I could only delete the entire scene from my memory and get some rest, but Merlin knows that this is not possible. The sentences keep flying around in my mind, harassing me, trying to eat me slowly from the inside. They frighten me, they are frightening the hell out of me. I shouldn't have fought with Jason – he is going to send someone out after me. The idea of tomorrow scares me.

_His whole diary is full of pictures of naked men._

He said he knew that from my sister, but why would she tell anyone things like this? Has she ever seen my diary? There is not a single picture in it, not of naked men or women, there are no pictures in it at all. Why would she tell Jason? How could she ever fall for him, the dick he is, I have always thought of her as someone reasonable and sensitive.

_He was drunk, he probably made this up himself,_ says a voice in my head. _He only said it to provoke you, because he is an asshole. The chances that this really has something to do with Oli are very low. She would not make something like this up and tell Jason._

But my head won't let me rest.

_Still it is not like all of it was lies, right? What about the dresses?_

But Oli never laughed at me because of it, she would always find it entertaining. I can remember how I, being a kid, tried on her dresses and she would say that I was so cute. And that she had always wished for a younger sister. And then she would go with her fingers through my hair and laugh. She always used to be nice about it and still I don't think she would talk about it with anyone, at least not with Jason.

But, the dresses. What kind of boy wears dresses?

The words are nagging me. Biting me. My stomach hurts from Jason's punch and I can still feel his fingers around my throat.

_You're such a faggot, Timothy Orger!_

❋❋❋

3 – Quentin

I can hear Tim breathing. It is louder than usually and it is not constant, it almost sounds as if he was choking on his own breath and I know how his breathing sounds, I have heard it next to me for the last five years. I know how it sounds when he is tired or when he has cried or when he is happy. But he has never before breathed like this, it seems as if he was fighting with himself, as if there was a raging storm inside of him. It definitely does not sound good.

Maybe he is ill. But no, he would have told us so. I turn around so I am not facing him with my back any more. The scenery looks like something from a romantic painting; the moonlight is falling on Tim's bed, painting it in a light grey, the rest of the room is made of black and shadows and darkness, which adds something oddly quiet and melancholic to it. Even more so, since we are the only ones in the dorm tonight, the others went out. _Party and girls_ , said their eyes. Merlin, they think they are so cool.  
I search for Tim's face, stroked by fingers of light. He's the only person that I know that sleeps with their head facing a different direction every night, tonight he is laying there like me, with the feet to the door.

His eyes are opened, facing the window, and in the moonlight they shine in an almost unnatural blue, like sapphires, they are the only thing that gives the place some colour. His lips are moving, as if he was suppressing the words his mouth wants to say so badly. His face seems restless, chased. His right hand lies on the blanket, angled, as if it was broken, his left hand is under the blanket, moving noiseless and fast, only visible by the shadows the light paints.

I don't know if I want to see him lying there this way, looking like a bird that fell from a tree, shattered, and I don't really want to know what he is doing with his hand under the blanket, it should be none of my business. Still I can't look away. And it isn't the first time I cannot detach my look from his sight.

_I only worry about him. He seems sick._

_Ah, sure. Interesting worries._

I still look at him as his right hand begins scratching itself, at least it looks like this. The nails drive into his palm and penetrate the flesh, so badly that it must hurt. He licks over his lips once like he was readying himself for something. Then he turns his head and looks right at me.p > Caught, I can't help myself but stare back. Now it would be the time to stammer an excuse or to quickly close my eyes. But I just look at him and he doesn't look away. His eyes are full of pain, full of suffering and the amount of hopelessness that they mirror frightens me deeply. Tim looks like an ancient man, dying.

I can almost feel my heart melting in empathy. I have never before seen him like this and I am scared of it; Tim is probably the last I would have thought being capable of such a look and such emotions, the smiling ball of good mood and light and sunshine that he usually is. Whatever has happened must have hurt him to the core of his heart.

I sit up slowly, stand up and make a step towards his bed. Our eyes keep holding grip of each other's, and his look is painful in an unaltered matter. I sit down next to him, carefully.

“What is wrong?”, I say and sound so much like Fryda, who is the only person that has ever asked me this question. Tim is still staring at me. His eyes show everything and nothing and they make me nervous, what am I doing here?

“I don't know.”

I don't say anything, because after all me and Fryda are not that much alike – I personally don't want to get on his nerves by asking again and again. But I want to know what is wrong with him, my look wanders to the floor and I can still hear his shaken breath. What is all this about, I wonder. What could have happened. A thought flashes through my mind.

“Did... ahm, you fight with Jason or did he fight with you?”

I am not looking into his face, but I can hear a sad smile as he answers. A false smile.

“Isn't that the same?”

He is trying to make his voices speak of carelessness, he is trying to make it sound like he was okay, but the only thing it is really saying is, _My life is over._

“I mean, did... did you resist or...”

As I turn around I see that he sat up. I can hear when he smiles, but not when he moves, Merlin, what even are my priorities. I hesitate for a moment because I don't know whether I really want to say it, but then I do. What do I have to loose, after all.

“He attacked you, didn't he?”

The next thing that Tim says is so precious. Actually, if he was trying to avoid this conversation, he could have tried to deny while laughing a bit or to resist to answer, like I did when Fryda tried to get it out of me. But, no, in this moment he trusts me, I can see this in his eyes and it warms me. He answers truthfully.

“Yes.”

I eye him.

“Why?”

“He... er... thought he knew something about me.”

I nod a little and am about to ask him, what it was that Jason thought to know about him, but suddenly, I can see the answer clearly in front of me. Our eyes find each other again and I don't know how long it is that we stare at each other, it could be seconds or minutes or hours, but in this moment it is all that both of us can manage. 

❋❋❋

4 – Timothy

He looks at me and I won't let go of his eyes. My throat is still scratching and now my eyes start to sting from not blinking. I would like to laugh to kill the tension, but it would be a high, shrill laugh, pathetic. I have no idea what is going on and I need to know what he is thinking. Why is he still sitting here, next to me, like a mother that brings her sick kid a tea? In a weird way it reminds me of my own mum and of the potion she would always give me when I was ill as a child. I feel brought back into my childhood and so old at once.

_Maybe you shouldn't trust everyone who says they nice to you._

A muscle on my jaw jerks. I can feel my anger growing again and Quen's face steps out of focus. I hate Jason. He destroyed everything that ever was important to me, he humiliated me in front of the other players and I don't know if I'll ever be able to play Quidditch with them again. I won't forget their faces, the way they didn't even think of helping me, how they only sat there. How am I supposed to form a team with people, to play together with them, if they wouldn't try to protect me from being beaten up. We would have been six against Jason; enough to bring him down. And about the consequences – a Quidditch team had supporters and everyone knew about Jason, there was literally nothing that they would have to fear, we would have been able to stand strong against his friends.

My head is spinning and have no idea any more whether all of this is physical or emotional, I just know that there is something being very, very wrong. That I'm sick. _Sick._

Is it my fault that my sister used to put me in princesses' dresses?

_Do you remember? You were four and your father had bought you a pirate's costume, but you would cry so loudly, you wouldn't rest until your sister took it and you could take her dress. It was much too big for you, but you liked it. Liked it,_ say the voices in my head.

The words stick to me. I _am_ sick.

_Dear Timmy, do you remember? You were seven and wondered what to read, so you took a book of your mother, full of romance. You finished it within two hours and started the next one. You spent the whole day in front of her book shelf and in the evening you demanded that you get such a book for your birthday. You got three and loved it._ Loved it.

_And if you opened your diary now, you maybe wouldn't find any naked men in it, but why do you even have a diary? Boys don't write diaries. Only faggots write diaries._ Faggots.

But how could he know it if it wasn't Olivia who had told him? It isn't possible that he made all of this up, the faggot parts, sure, but the rest? It simply had to be my sister who talked about it with him. But how could she tell Jason? How could she have been so stupidly blind? Is it, in the end, my sister's fault that I got beaten up? The burning in my eyes gets only stronger, and I can feel the tears coming. Tears of anger and guilt because how can I think that Oli is responsible for all this mess, she loves me and I know that. And still...

My heart skips a beat and the muscles around my chest cramp for a moment. I don't want to know what will happen tomorrow. Merlin. Jason will tell his friends that I brawled with him and they are going to tell the teachers about it. I will get detention. Loose points... everyone will discuss during the breaks whether Timothy Orger is gay or not. My legs are turning numb and I feel like falling into a deep hole. His friends sure are going to threaten me, crack their fingers whenever I pass by, maybe even beat me up and I would not be very surprised – but what if there are going to be others who jump on the bandwagon, what if I won't be safe anywhere at Hogwarts any more?

_Look how he's hanging here. Faggot!_

_They say that he enjoys reading love novels._

_His diary is full of naked men._

_Timothy Orger, what a faggot!_

I pant. It sound like a shot against the dark. Suddenly I realise that Quen is still sitting next to me, staring at me. I bet he hasn't moved during the last minutes, while I was completely elsewhere with my mind, occupied by nightmarish thoughts.

“What happened?”, he whispers and it sounds so gentle that I at once am so glad that he is here right now.

I look at him and see the concern written all over his face.

_You shouldn't trust everyone._

I open my mouth.


	2. Part Two: It fucking worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are with chapter two and mentions of alcohol (abuse), gossip, homophobia and transition (though that is not transphobic). I would like to say enjoy, but it sounds kind of ironic.

1 – Fryda

The Great Hall is already filled with chattering and blathering students as I enter for breakfast. Each of the four tables is painted in its house's colours since all students are already wearing their uniforms. As always, there are two kinds of morning people amongst the pupils; there are those who would kill for being left alone in the mornings, those who are still trying to keep their eyes opened, those who pour down their coffee, hoping that it would make them feel better. And then there are those who are already able to hold conversations or small talk and seem to be happy when looking this new day, those new adventures and challenges, into the eye.

Usually I belong to the later kind, I like talking to my friends in the mornings and making my mind up what is going to happen this day. Normally I enjoy the mornings, as I love breakfast food and this calm time before the storm of the day. But today I overslept and am not at all in the mood for some nice small talk. For the third time in my life I overslept and it makes me so angry with myself; I hate being in a rush in the mornings. It makes everything more complicated and gives me the feeling that I've forgotten something important and Merlin, it is just a terrible start in the day. Nothing good will happen if I am already in a bad mood at this time a day.

_Why did you forget about your alarm, Fryda? Why?_

I sigh loudly and sit down at the Slytherin table, next to Stacy.

“Hi, Fryda. You're late, what the hell happened? An apocalypse?”, she says and grins, reminding me of the fact that usually my mornings are well-organized and happen without any further interruptions.

“Merlin! I forgot to set my wand. How much time is it before lessons start?”

“15 minutes”, says Scarlett at the opposite side of the table, with the same grin like Stacy.

I don't know if I should like these two. They are my friends, somehow, or at least acquaintances, because I often talk to them, but when I try to speak with them over anything that matters, besides gossip talk or fashion trends, they stare at me as if I was out of my mind. It is against my inner belief that there really are girls that only ever think about boys and make-up and about training this certain kind of a grin, because that is what you can hear everywhere and I just refuse to believe it. Still, when I am with these two I can understand why there are people in this world who think all women are like this – and the fact that I somehow support the stereotype this way makes me feel so bad about myself. The feminist inside of me will keep looking at me with raised eyebrows, whenever I judge them before I think. It makes me all nervous, to be honest. I definitely feel better around Tim and Quen, because we share the same way of thinking and I don't have to worry about my words or my thoughts – I can simply be who I am when I am with them, without having to fear to be judged by my feminist beliefs. Oh, this is a complicated world we are living in.

I put butter on a toast and fold it together. That way I can eat while walking to class and will hopefully get back to my usual morning plan. I gulp down a few mouthfuls of pumpkin juice and look down the table. Tim and Quen are nowhere to be seen, which is odd, because normally they spend as much time in the Great Hall as possible, until the first lesson starts and sometimes they are even late to class then, as especially Tim enjoys to talk to everyone around.

Both of them were acting weird yesterday, most of all Quen. I have know idea what the reason for him acting all this queasy could be. He never likes to talk about what is bothering him, but this time it seems to be something serious and I can see how it gets on his nerves. Quen is no one who is intimidated quickly and last night he was so... agitated. I need to talk to him later about it and he surely needs to tell someone too, although he probably won't admit it to himself. I hope I will not make him feel like I am entering his private space – sometimes the chances that he is going to talk will become even smaller then.

On the first sight, Tim seemed to be normal last night, but I can't remember that he ever brawled with someone before, he likes to discuss things for a long time and try to convince people of his opinion before he will make use of more extreme methods. And Jason Turner is much stronger than him, I don't think Tim would stand a chance against him – and yet he didn't look hurt at all last night in the common room. There has to be something more to this conflict, whatever happened. Anyway, it makes me very nervous that he upset Jason – that guy is not to be taken lightly.

So my plans for today are clear; make them open up about their problems. Oh, and survive this school day. I stand up slowly and look at my watch. Ten minutes until class, I better get going. The first lesson is Charms, luckily – I need something to cheer me up and both Professor Flitwick and charms are always able to. I notice that Stacy and Scarlett are looking at me again and they are grinning so widely that it must be hurting their faces. It definitely is hurting my eyes.

“What?”

“You haven't heard about it yet, have you?”

Oh, no, please spare me your morning gossip.

“Er – what exactly?”

Scarlett leans forward.

“Jason Turner fell from his broom, at the yesterday's Quidditch training”, she murmurs.

“Wow. How... exciting”, I say lamely and turn around again.

“No, wait – listen”, Scarlett says, “as his friends visited him in the Hospital Wing this morning, he told them something.”

“And?”, I answer, trying to sound mildly interested.

“He said he's gay. Jason Turner is gay!”, Stacy whispers.

“Hm?”, I say, actually taken by surprise, “I can't imagine. Not him.”

“Well, he said so.”

“Ah”, I make and hold myself back before I seem interested in this to them, which would result in them telling me more about it. Probably so much more that I am going to be late to class.

Merlin. They are so greedy for sensation. Slimy, sticky, only waiting to tell everyone about these news and they look so _happy_ that they were able to surprise me with it, if only for a short moment. It is disgusting. I've never belonged to the people who tore their mouth over the latest rumours. And if Jason was gay, it wasn't my problem, I didn't care. Should he love whoever he wanted, he was still a dick.

“Don't you care!?”, Stacy asks, sounding a bit scandalized by my lack of interest.

“Merlin, it's all the same to me, honestly.”

“All the same? Please, this guy's had _tons_ of girlfriends, imagine how they must feel, now that they realise that he never truly loved them.”

“Before I'd get involved with Turner I knew that he would never truly love me.”

“Really?”

Their eyes are flooded with curiosity. I raise an eyebrow.

“Yep, really.”

They nauseate me. I need to get away from this place, to somewhere with people who still use their brain before talking. I climb over the bench and walk towards the door, but I can hear how they are following me, their steps hasty and under their breath some excited murmuring.

“Wait, so you knew, that he was gay? Seriously?”

I sigh and stop abruptly. Fine. My mood is already the worst it could get today, and I now the anger hits in. I am angry at myself, because I forgot to set my alarm. Angry at Quen and Tim because they are trying to hold things back from me. And, most of all, I am angry at Scarlett and Stacy and all the people who talk and talk and talk about other people behind their backs instead of doing something reasonable for once. They ruin other's days and lives and what is even worse – they are enjoying it. And I just can't take this any longer.

They almost crash into me. I'm way smaller than they are, way smaller than most people, but nobody should be my enemy when I'm angry. Tim keeps calling me baby firecracker in these moments and I suppose it is true.

“Seriously, guys, do you have any idea, how disgusting both of you are? You and”, I point into the air, “this entire thing? At first: It is his very own business, being gay or not. Secondly: Why the hell would that be an interesting topic for gossip? Who the fuck cares? And, most importantly: Don't you have something more meaningful to do with your lives than running after everyone and talking about the _latest news_ with them? Don't you have any other ideas what to do in you free time? Literally anything is more spectacular than this.”

I make a pause to catch some breathe and love to see how big and scared their eyes got. Yes, they do look a little frightened. Some people at our table have turned around and seem to be listening to the argument, either with an amused smile on their faces, because, _oh this is a girl getting angry, how sweet_ , or with a frown, because, _that is Fryda Nwosu being full of rage and usually she stays calm over most things, what is happening_. At least I never before started to shout like this. Yes, maybe I am talking way too loudly, but I don't care. This feels amazing and I should do it more often, I haven't felt this free in some time. I can read my next words clearly on my mind, my pulse is raising, and the confidence I can feel inside of me is astonishingly beautiful.

“And being gay is no disease, Merlin fucking damn it. Arrive in the twenty-first century. You could also say: _Oh, Charlie Grint said he ate snow once!_ and loose your shit over that. Do yourself and me and everybody else a favour and search for other hobbies, okay? Slagging somebody off is nothing you could get paid for.”

My heart is pounding wildly as I turn around without waiting for an answer and with fast steps I head towards the class room. I can hear both of them whispering behind me, about how rude I am and that I didn't use to be like this. It gives me a weird kind of satisfaction that I had this effect on somebody. That they are so scandalized by an opinion so reasonable and common. Yes, I like to see that I can change somebody's mood so quickly – just some minutes ago Stacy and Scarlett were perfectly happy and feeling well and now that someone called them out on their shit they are suddenly weirded out and don't know what to say or do, except to tell each other how unsettled they were.

As I get closer to the Charms room I notice that not only my steps, but also my breath is going quite hastily – to be honest, I am surprised by myself, too. Merlin, what has happened to me? It felt good, sure, but it was something so unusual for me to do. And the three of us won't stay the only ones who are stunned by it.

I can imagine that in no time other people are going to talk about this scene, there were so many Slytherins watching and if Stacy and Scarlett will stay quiet about the happenings (highly unlikely), somebody else is going to start talking about it. Which is going to be the first time ever that I am in the centre of public attention, or gossip. Normally no one ever talks about me – I'm very boring when it comes to my private life, no scandals so far.

Tim has had a tough time last year because everyone would talk about what happened at his and Quen's birthday party. The two always celebrate their birthdays together because they are only some days apart and last time they held a little feast in the boy's dormitory (yes, I was there), everybody was drunk and they wanted to jump out of the window in the middle of the night, naked. They climbed onto the Astronomy tower and Tim was the first one who wanted to try (who else would it be?), but before he jumped he realised that he had forgotten his broomstick in the Quidditch changing-room. At this time there was already a little audience at the bottom, cheering loudly, waking the teachers. Slytherin lost some nice amount of points and the party was gossip topic number one for the next weeks.

At this night I swore to myself that I never would participate in parties, at least not this kind of them, to protect myself from any consequences that might follow. To stay safe from the effects of alcohol – losing control seems too horrible to me to try much of it – but also to keep myself away from the talk.

But now it looks like I _did_ loose control, without drinking, just through telling somebody my opinions, and to be honest, it feels amazing. I am going to be focus of some of the talk too now, maybe for days or longer, I have no idea how these things work, but I do not care. I would say and do everything of it again. Too many bad things have happened before because people kept their mouths shut at the wrong time. Merlin, this is an adventure. 

❋❋❋

2 – Timothy

It is two minutes before the lesson starts, and the Charms class is nearly complete. Professor Flitwick enters the room and climbs onto the chair, which he needs to be tall enough to overlook the class, to see and to be seen by everyone. I have always liked him, since he is a kind and funny teacher and you can learn a lot during his classes.

I look at the back of Quen's head; he sits in the row before me. His dark hair touches the back of his shirt with some of its curls, it looks a little messy. He is busy with putting his materials onto the table, parchment and quills and the Charms text book. I can't help myself but pay attention to the slight dorkiness in every one of his moves, the way his fingers work efficiently, quick and somehow very lightly, but still look like it is not really the right thing for them to do. I could look at his hands for hours.

Now that he is finished with preparing for the class, I can see how his shoulders shift slightly and, yes, he turns around to me and grins. My heart skips several beats and I realise I haven't seen him this relaxed in quite a while. I smile back, brightly. Merlin, what have we done? I almost have to laugh and I can see that he is trying to hold it back too. We are bound together by the mischief we have done – or that way you could put it if we were the main characters in a young adult novel. I wish I was able to dance or do some hours of Quidditch training right now. There is too much energy brooding inside of me and I feel all hyperactive. Damn, it feels good.

Quen's grin fades into a smile and he turns back again, but I can see that his cheeks are still a little redder than usual. The last students enter the room, one of them is Lorcan Scamander, the Ravenclaw that I sit next to during Charms classes – he always arrives just before the start of each lesson.

“Hi”, Lorcan says to me and sits down.

“Hey.”

“Did you hear it?”

“Uhm... what?”, I ask.

“Jason Turner came out as gay.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard about that, yes”, I say and try to hide my excitement.

“Merlin knows, I'm not homophobic, you know that my brother is trans and all, but I would have never thought that Jason was gay. Anyone, but him. I mean, everything about him screams 'straight teenage boy dickhead', right?”

“Yeah, probably. I dunno, I don't exactly care. But you are right”, I say and on the inside I shake my head over the way I stammered this answer. I need to get my shit together.

“Me neither, I just think it is a little sad, then, how he tried to hide it through having as many different girlfriends as possible. It's just... frustrating, that people still have to use those methods. It hurts the girls, it probably hurts himself too. I couldn't be together with someone I didn't love”, Lorcan says while getting out his materials and shrugs.

I take down some mental notes – my respect for Lorcan just grew a lot. Still, besides the serious topic, I can't really hide my amazing mood. It worked. It fucking worked. I grin and look at him, asking sarcastically:

“Oh, sure, how many girlfriends did you have so far, during this school year? Fifteen?”

“It was three, and all of them I treated with respect and honesty”, he answered, his index finger raised, “Different from Jason, if you are so kind to notice. Also, you as the Quidditch womenizer all second years have a crush on, on how many dates did you go just this month?”

I try to grin, but I don't think it looks like a grin. It probably looks like a nice cocktail of _lovesick idiot_ and _crashed into a glass door face first._

_None. But we're gonna see._

❋❋❋

3 – Quentin

I can feel in my neck that Tim is looking at me. Maybe I am imagining it, because I wish for it to happen so badly, but still I can't hold myself back. I turn around and smile at him. Yes, he was staring at me and the realisation floods right into my feet and I start moving them on the floor, up and down.

My brain seems to do what it wants and no matter how good I usually am at controlling my thoughts, now none of my methods will work and I just have to think about last night. Merlin, our plan appears to work damn well. I see the excitement in Tim's eyes and can feel that they are mirroring mine. I try to fight my grin so that the others won't notice and so I turn to my table, smiling at my unopened book. I must look like an idiot, I feel as if the sun had left its place on the sky and moved into my chest, making my cheeks burn.

Some of the missing students enter and I can hear how Tim starts talking to Lorcan Scamander. I don't know him very well, but I know and like Lysander, his twin brother and Hufflepuff, from Arithmancy class. I never knew until Fryda told me last year that Lysander has in fact been born as a girl and went through a quite early transition when he was a kid. I remember the lecture-like conversation Fryda held for me and Tim about transgender topics and pronouns and spells that helped to transition and she seemed to care so much about this content that I am trying my best to keep this knowledge in mind and be careful.

“On how many dates did you go just this month?”, I can hear Lorcan asking.

My feet stop moving and I try to listen as closely as possible to Tim's answer, but he says nothing. I am about to turn around to him again, as the bell rings; Professor Flitwick clears his throat and starts talking.

Fryda runs into the room. She apologizes to Professor Flitwick and sits down next to me. Her face is dark red, but I suppose mine must be redder. How didn't I notice she was missing? It is nothing unusual that Tim and I eat breakfast separated from her, but normally she would sit in the class room before we enter and this morning she wouldn't and _I just didn't notice_. I wonder what could have happened that she would be late. And I can feel how the rage radiates around her – who could have made her that angry?

“Well, Miss Nwosu, maybe you can tell us, where Miss Noncell and Miss Jilvar are? Did you see them on your way?”

Fryda looks up to Flitwick and I can see how a proud and superior smile appears on her lips.

“I don't know, Professor. And I don't want to.”

Professor Flitwick raises an eyebrow to this, at least for Fryda, unusually forward answer, someone whistles and I can hear how Tim makes a small, surprised laugh. It is the best noise I've heard in a long time.


	3. Part Three: What exactly was your plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now here comes some mentions of a parent's death and ghosts and there is like, mild homophobia lying beneath all of it. Also there are going to be some short mentions of alcohol, bullying/insulting and a bit talk about abuse in a relationship. I'd say though, that most of the last ones are not extremely triggering.

1 – Timothy

I can feel my lips moving, can feel that they are forming words, but I don't know where those are coming from. My mouth took control over my mind and spills everything out. The anger, the fear. I listen to myself while I tell Quen everything about the thing with Jason. My voice is only a whisper and it sounds so sore and hoarse, that I wonder when it will break and I will end up crying.

I have no idea what I am doing, the room is dark and I can feel the moonlight against my back, I look into Quen's eyes that are darker than usual, and I hear myself say all the things I need to tell somebody so badly. With each word, a bit of the fear that holds me together streams out of my body and Quen's eyes are the only thing that holds me back from falling into pieces.

Is it getting better? Is it getting worse? I don't know, this doesn't feel like I am the one talking. How should I be able to build sentences, the way my brain feels completely deranged, since all that goes through it are flash-like thoughts. But in this room there are real sentences, complete sentences that make sense and how can those be leaving my mouth. The feeling that my lips and my mind are two different, independent things, scares me almost as much as thinking of Jason's fingers around my throat.

I read in Quen's eyes that he understands what happened, that he understands very well and the thought crosses my mind that I should be so thankful that somebody is listening to me right now. Yet it doesn't exactly make me feel better. His eyes remind me of my feelings and that I can't escape those. He looks stunned. Maybe a bit frightened. Worried. Angry.

I swallow and in some way I can sense that the story my mouth is telling is coming to an end. The last words float around like a wave that crashes on the sand of a beach, shooting forwards, farer than one would have expected, with unknown power.

“Shit”, Quen whispers, so softly that I almost can't hear it.

His look is so kind that I wonder whether I have ever seen it on his face. Usually he stays with his resting face, some raised eyebrows or a smirk, but only rarely there is true warmth on it. I guess he is too afraid to show some of that. But not now; now he seems like he is trying everything he can to express with his face how much he understands. It is so unusual for him that for a moment all I think about is his face and not Jason, not the fight, not the pain, not tomorrow. The surprise about it gives me a bit of peace, if only for a very short time.

And then he hugs me, even though we sit a bit too far from each other to make touch more than our arms and shoulders. Basically, he just lays his arms around me and the weight of his forearms against my back is so pleasant that I close my eyes. If I was unsure to like it that he was around just a minute before, now I am so glad that he is. I close the gap between us as I shift towards him and lay my head on his shoulder.

The tears come before I can hold them back and while I feel them streaming down my face I wonder when I cried like this the last time. I can't remember, it must have been a while. On the other hand; when was the last time I was as completely miserable as I am now? I can feel Quen's hair against my cheek and remember how soft it feels. I have never hugged him before, but sure have often messed through his hair with my hands, a thing that I know he hates.

At any other point in my life I would have felt embarrassed to cry in front of others, except maybe Oli or Fryda. It is not that I am afraid to show weakness, but I like to be alone in those moments, I like to find a solution on my own and whenever I realise that I made it out of the sobs with my own power, the pride I feel is enormous. But I especially tried to hide my tears from Quen during all the years, because it unsettled me in those moments how he never seemed to be really down or really happy, just okay in his own way, in a way that made me wonder whether he actually felt something behind the mask he was always wearing.

Yet in this moment the unexpected support he shows helps me more than my sister or Fryda could if they were here right now and would try to cheer me up – that wouldn't be something extraordinary. But the way Quen acts came out of nowhere and shows me that he actually cares for me, and is doing this not only because it is what he always always does. He smells so nice.

“I am not really good at this, but you are going to be better”, he whispers against my ear and I can feel his breath against my neck.

“Mhm”, I make and press my teeth together, because the words make the tears shoot into my eyes again.

He runs his hand along my back and starts striking it slowly, hesitantly and I can feel that he hasn't done this before very often. I didn't know he could be so caring.

❋❋❋

2 – Quentin

I listen to the words that leave Tim's mouth and from the emptiness in his eyes, the way he just stares at me, I wonder that he is able to speak at all. The regular grin on his face is wiped away, his eyes dark holes. Where do those lead, I wonder. I never knew that Tim's inside was big enough to hold such depths.

It is only in the beginning of his speech that I look at his face so closely – I keep staring, but what he is saying takes all my attention. My heart pounds so hardly against my chest that it feels like it is about to break through my ribcage. There is a light whirring in my ears, in my mind, and I can feel how my growing anger floods into my hands and feet, making them tremble.

I listen to Tim and it has been a long time that somebody's story could absorb me so fully, completely, like his and there is no need for the descriptions of the situation he is giving me, because I can see it in his eyes, I can feel how the pain and the embarrassment and the rage and the fear wavers around him like a bubble.

His voice stands in contrast to this firework around him, it sounds hollow, like he just does not care anymore. But that is only the voice, of course he isn't done caring yet. What he is telling me is nothing one could stop caring about.

“And then I...”, he swallows hard and it sounds like something in his throat breaks, “I don't know, I was so terribly angry, because of how he treated Oli and all these other people and because he is such a horrible person and because I... he hurt me so much. And I never fight with people and I think it is a terrifying thing to do because you should talk before you just fight somebody... but you can't talk with Jason. And I, I... just... kicked him. Several times, while he was still lying on the floor. Merlin, I am such a piece of shit. But I wanted to hurt him and I kicked him and then he was lying there and wasn't moving and I just took my stuff and then Henry said that they would bring him to the Hospital Wing and wouldn't tell anyone... which is like, totally nice of them, right? They're basically so kind that they will let someone beat me up... and... then I went back to the common room and you and Fryda and I don't want to know what is going to happen tomorrow... yeah”, he ends and I realise I should say something.

“Shit”, I make before I can hold myself back and it sounds like the most inappropriate thing to say right now. As if _shit_ could sum up all of this.

He looks so terribly broken that it seems that he is never going to be whole again. If only Fryda was here, she would know what to do, she would find the right words and would be able to make Tim feel good again. But she isn't here and I am the only one that can sort this out. I realise once more how bad I am at this people stuff. I should have trained or something.

I don't know what I should say or do and for a moment I am afraid that I am going to make everything worse because he came to me to search for help and now he won't get it. What would Fryda do? She would probably have an entire plan on her mind by now, oh, how much she loves her plans. I guess she always starts with finding her own opinion, to have a position to act on.

But I don't need to make up my mind about this. My opinion is so obvious, the way it trembles through my veins and my feet, it is obvious when I see the cloud of pain around Tim's body, when I listen to the pounding of my heart and see into his eyes, so full of... everything. I want him to be okay, I want him to smile again, because, who am I to hide this from myself, that smile is what I live on. I need him to be happy. And I need to hurt Jason.

Before I can make up my mind over a next step and ruin all of this through thinking too much, I trust my instinct and hug him. If you can call this a hug, since it is only me lying my arms around his shoulders, leaning over, while he still sits there motionless. For a moment I feel like a complete idiot and am about to take my arms away, but then he moves closer and I can feel his jaw against mine. For a moment we just breathe against one another, arms around our backs, and when he starts crying I am not even surprised.

He shakes and I can feel the tears dropping against my neck. His sobs echo in my ear, and the side of my head that is pressed against his grows warmer. He must be in such a terrible place, and even though I can feel all of it, even though I am now part of the sadness that surrounds him, I feel quite comfortable with him close. Usually, I am not a hug-person, but I might be a person for exactly this moment. I close my eyes. All of this feels so right and I don't want it to stop.

“I am not really good at this”, I whisper, because I feel the need to say something, “but you are going to be better.”

“Mhm”, he answers through gritted teeth.

I lean against the touch and stroke his back. He needs to get better. And Jason needs to be taught a lesson.

❋❋❋

3 – Timothy

It must be minutes before I start feeling like a normal person again. I can hear how my breathing steadies slowly, my cheeks are still sticky and warm from the tears. There is a ticking clock in the room that I didn't hear before and there is Quen's calm breath against my ear. How my hand ended up against the back of his head, feeling the curly hair with my fingers, I can't recall.

He is warm and soft and there is nothing awkward about the situation even though we have hugged for some time now. I don't want any of this to end, I am afraid that if I let go of him, of the hug, the shadows will start reaching out for me again. I just want to be left alone by the thoughts that keep hunting me and Quen does a good job fighting them off with this hug.

He moves slightly under my arms and opens his mouth as if he wanted to say something. 

“Mh?”, I make.

“Do you want revenge?”

“You mean, when it comes to Jason?”, I say and my voice sounds numb, still heavy of tears.

“Yeah.”

This thought hasn't crossed my mind so far. I was too afraid of the consequences of the first fight to think of another one yet.

“I don't know if you could call it revenge, after all it is my fault he ended up in the Hospital Wing.”

Quen stays silent for a moment and then he moves his head away from mine. He keeps his arms loosely around my back, looks to the side for a moment and I am surprised to see such a determined look on his face.

“Oh. Oh, no. You are not thinking about –“

“Yeah, I am. Thinking about revenge, I mean. He can't just hurt you like this and get nothing but some kicks out of it”, he says.

I swallow and my head goes wild, as I hear the way he talks about that Jason harmed me. It sounds as if he hurt Quen just as much, if not even more. And the way his eyebrows are knitted together, the way he is frowning looks like he was ready to go into battle... I don't know if I should like that. It seems nothing like the usual Quen. On the other hand, he has never liked injustice. Unlike Fryda, he normally just doesn't act loudly on this.

“I don't know... sure, I would love to see him injured on a... a mental level too, yeah”, I answer finally.

“But you are too afraid”, Quen says and turns around to me again, his brown eyes fixed on me.

For a short moment I am embarrassed, but then again I have cried in front of him just some minutes ago – admitting this shouldn't be the most humiliating thing I have to go through this evening.

“Yeah.”

“It should be something that makes it impossible for him to hurt you back. Something that makes him shut up about the whole thing.”

He suddenly seems very excited and drums with his finger tips against my back, then he stands up. For a moment I feel lost again, now that he isn't at my side any more, now that the atmosphere is full of energy and that my own heaviness stands in contrast against the way he seems to move his mind so quickly. But then I see how he keeps looking at me and know that he is still with me. The moment of comfort, of being with each other, is not completely over yet.

“Something like... blackmailing”, Quen says.

“But it better be something good we use against him, or he is just going to ignore it. Also, he can't know that it is us who are blackmailing him. I mean, he already has something against me, and I won't let you become another of his enemies”, I say slowly, my head still dizzy.

The change is a bit too sudden for me to go with it. My cheeks are still sticky, my headache has yet to stop and the darkness in my head is not entirely chased away so far. A smile breaks onto Quen's lips and for a moment he is just standing there, his hand frozen in a movement like something interrupted him in the middle of thinking. To be honest, he looks a bit out of his mind – or maybe I am simply not used to seeing him all energetic about something, without hiding it behind sarcasm. But his excitement makes mine grow, it slowly grips me and shines some light on the dragging thoughts in my mind. Maybe the entire thing about Jason could still turn into something I would be okay with. 

❋❋❋

4 – Quentin

My mind is racing. We need a plan and Fryda isn't around. She is usually the one who sees the strengths in everyone and puts them together so that everything is going to work just fine. Now Tim and I have to work on a revenge plan on our own. Even though he seems to be more of the person he used to be, the way he sitting on his bed, staring at me with a smile, I know that there is still too much fear in him to make him function normally and work out a good plan like he would whenever Fryda isn't able to. So this is about me, but I am too giddy to think. It doesn't help that we are acting normally around each other again – though it is clear that each one of us knows that nothing about this is normal any more. I want to go back to hugging and at the thought an idiotic smile appears on my face, but no, first things first, I need to sort this out for him.

“So... blackmailing”, Tim says.

“Yeah. We need something we can blackmail him with. Do we have any information about him that he wants to keep secret? Maybe something Oli mentioned?”

Tim shrugs.

“Sorry, I don't think that there is anything. They were together only for three weeks, and I guess he is not the kind of person who likes to show others his weaknesses.”

“Then... maybe we have to make something up.”

“But how would that work? And what would we make up?”, Tim asks and shifts on his mattress, unable to hide that now that we are planning something, he is eager to go on an adventure. This is Tim after all, and I am glad that this bit of him is back.

I bite on my lip and try not to look at his face, it doesn't help me concentrate. Suddenly, there is the plan right in front of me. Merlin, it would be a wonder if this would work, but we have to try. There is a slight chance things are going to work out this way and we need to get a hold on this chance. Grab it.

“I think I know something”, I say and point to the door.

The look on his face pushes my heartbeat and then he has already thrown a dressing gown over his pyjama. He looks like wants to try his hardest to make things okay again and I am surprised by the determination that flows around him. I thought it would take him a bit longer to get into a place where he is keen to do something about the situation, that he would need some time to loosen the grip of the memory of what happened today. I wanted to explain everything before leaving, but why not tell him about my idea once we are heading to Jason.

❋❋❋

5 – Timothy

The whole way to the Hospital Wing I can see that Quen can't help himself but has to grin, sometimes it seems that he is fighting it, but mostly it stays on his lips. It doesn't help me stop smiling. I feel like we are two puppies on their first adventure, the pulses too high, too much excitement in the air, tripping over our feet. There is nothing planned about this plan, it seems. I bite my lip and try not to laugh. I know that I am only running on adrenaline, on the way we both are so pumped about this; the darkness is still hiding underneath it, but for now all I can do is ignore it. I have to push it away and Merlin knows how long I will be able to do that, to face it with my back, to run away from it.

“Wait, that corridor is always empty, we can discuss everything there”, I whisper in his ear and pull him to the side. I can feel the hairs on his forearm raising up.

The corridor is deserted, it is one of the few places in the castle nobody ever visits. The tapestry hangs in pieces and is burned in some places. One wall is full of holes, a few windows are missing. Normally everything in Hogwarts is more or less clean and well-kept, but not this corridor. The residents of the paintings here are even weirder. During my first school year I tried to see every single corner of the castle and wandered through so many corridors, floors and rooms and came to the realisation that in those paintings clearly live the strangest people of all of Hogwarts. During day-time they don't speak, just stare out of their frames and in the night they murmur in old languages, only to themselves, never with one of the others.

I don't know what has happened here. I bet there has to be something that traumatized these people in the past, maybe it was something during the Battle of Hogwarts. Still that doesn't explain why any other corridor that was destroyed back then was renewed, but this one looks destroyed after all the years.

Even now you can hear a soft murmur. Quen looks at me questioningly.

“The people in the paintings”, I explain.

“Ah. Okay.”

“So... what exactly was your plan?”

He stares at me surprised as if he forgot why we are straying through the castle in the middle of the night. Then his look clears up.

“Oh, yes. Sorry. Well, I thought that maybe we could frighten him so much that he is going to tell everyone rumours about himself.”

“Uhm, sounds interesting, but how do you want to manage this?”, I ask frowning slightly.

But he seems to know where he is going and starts explaining, while he keeps looking at the destroyed tapestry.

“Everyone is afraid of something, right? I've never told you, but when Jason was a child, he lived in Sheffield for a while; my brother and him were sort of friends.”

“And you are telling me this _now_?”

For a short second, I feel angry with Quen and how he never tells us anything about his life before Hogwarts. I know only bits about his childhood and his family, and have never visited his home. _Maybe you shouldn't trust everyone who_ – okay, no, shut up.

“It... never mattered to me”, he says hesitatingly and looks a little unsure about himself suddenly.

“Sorry, I didn't – please, continue”, I say as I realise that this is one of the few times Quen is actually going to talk about something. I don't want to destroy the moment.

“Yeah, well, after one, two months he left again.”

“Mhm.”

“Well, my brother and him... they spoke once about their fears. My brother told him about a caustic dog in the neighbourhood and he said he's afraid of ghosts.”

I think I know where this is going.

“And you think he's still afraid of them? At the age of 17?”

Quen looks down to the floor, then at me. He waves with his hand, as if he was chasing away a fly.

“Sorry. Not the greatest idea, I know.”

“No! I mean, it is at least a good point to start with.”

Shit, I feel like I am ruining the comfortable atmosphere that has been all around us ever since he started listening to what happened to me earlier this night. Why did I have to criticize him when I know that he is only trying his best to help me out.

He continues without looking at me.

“Starting point you say, well, I don't know, if it would be too harsh, but his father died around that time. This was the reason why they moved away. And... well...”

“You mean, we could pretend to be his father?”, I ask, as I realise where this is going.

He licks over his lips.

“Too violent? I mean, this is nothing to be taken easy, right? But I thought, that if there is someone that deserves it, it must be Jason. Look at what he did to you, and Oli, and so many others.”

I hesitate because he is right – the death of a parent really is nothing one should joke about. And to be honest, I wouldn't be doing any of this revenge thing if Quen wasn't so keen on doing it. But then again, and here he is still right – there are so many people Jason has fought for no reason, people he bullied, people whose live he made hell. Not only all the girls like my sister he dumped and treated like shit, but also people like me he attacked without reason. And all those he treated way worse than me, after all he only beat me up once. I might wouldn't be doing this for me, but for all of them.

“I don't know whether this is going to work out, but we can definitely try.”

He smiles at me and I am relieved to see that my approval of his plan makes him feel better, luckily. The sight of it beats behind the pain that is still flying around in my head and chases it away to the back of my mind. 

❋❋❋

6 – Quentin

Tim's hand still clutches my forearm. I don't know if he is aware of it, but I don't shake it off; why would I. I show him the charm that I found once while I was spending one of those endless afternoons studying in the library. Thanks to the spell our voices will change the same way, so that we'll sound identical.

He whistles softly and approvingly and the sound of it lightens my heart.

“Okay. Er – I'd say that we firstly go to the Hospital Wing, then you start saying something and we'll take turns? Maybe each of us stands on one side of his bed, so that he'll be more confused? And maybe is going to be more frightened?”, he asks.

I nod.

“Okay. I'd say, like... we're his father and want to make it clear to him, that we're disappointed of him, and that the way he is treating others is terrible and that he'll have to pay for it. Also, and here's the blackmailing part, he will have to tell his friends, when they visit him tomorrow to ask what has happened, that...”, I say but stop.

I don't have any idea what it could be that Jason should tell his friends. For a moment, none of us says something and I can feel my heart pounding. I've never thought that I would one day, or, night, leave the bed to frighten someone and to drill the finger only deeper into the wound that must have hurt them for their entire life. But this feels right. Jason, of all people, deserves it.

Tim looks at me. We start laughing at the same moment, as the similar idea appears in our minds. The awkwardness that has only waited the entire night for a moment like this, creeps up to us.

“Okay. He's gonna pay the same price?”, Tim asks.

“Yeah, I think that would work quite well.”

Tim nods, and then there is a short moment of silence in which we only look at each other. Then a smile breaks onto his lips and I could swear that the air around him is starting to grow warmer. I am more than ever conscious of his hand around my forearm and my look wanders down to it, Tim follows it with his eyes and for a moment I am afraid that he is going to let go of it, but he doesn't remove his hand. I try to swallow the grin on my face because I want to concentrate. It doesn't exactly work.

“Okay, I think that's it”, I say, almost in a whisper.

Then I turn to the door and Tim's grip around my arm grows stronger, pulling me towards him. I somehow swing into his direction, as I am only standing on one foot and nearly ram him. Tim grins at me.

“Don't you think it would be better if we made ourselves invisible? It would kinda destroy the plan if he recognized us.”

“Oh. Right”, I say puzzled because that wasn't what I had expected, “I didn't think of this.”

Tim stretches his wand after me and taps on my shoulder. Something cold drips beneath my collar, down my back. I look at my hands, but they have turned the colour of the stone floor underneath my feet. Tim's hand hangs strangely in the air, still at my arm.

“I forgot you're Mister Adventure”, I say before I can stop myself and am so glad he can't see how terribly much I am blushing. I can see a surprised smile on Tim's lips, just before he becomes invisible. Merlin, why can't I shut up.

“Yeah, well, that's me”, he says and I bet the blood shoots into his face as well, even though I can't see it.

“Then, let's go.”

❋❋❋

7 – Jason

My dreams are full of flashes and hallucinations. I'm glad that I woke up from them quickly. The Hospital Wing's empty, except for my bed. Madam Pomfrey said she'd be next door, and if I wanted anything, I should call for her. As if I needed someone to hold my hand.

I'm sure that I've heard something, that must be the reason why I woke up. I don't have any idea what it was, but hell, it was nothing nice. I open my eyes. A flash of moonlight falls through the windows, not enough to make the Wing any lighter. One wall is full of grey shadows, that's the branches of the conker that stands in front of the window and makes everything look darker. I can't hear the rain any more but in the mirror on the opposite wall I can see that it's snowing slightly. Finally; a Christmas without snow is no damn Christmas.

But the end of this year was shit anyway; at first Mum didn't want to send me more money, which meant more debts and less firewhiskey and we got into a fight. Then this Olivia told everyone that I was oh so terrible because I told her she was fat, which is the truth she can't ignore, and thanks to her it got harder to get a new girlfriend. And now her little brother fought me. Merlin, I shouldn't have drunk so much in the afternoon, otherwise it would have destroyed that guy in no time.

Yet I like that I could hurt him at least a bit, that was a lesson he had to be told. He kept pissing me off, why does he have to talk like a little girl? He is a half a girl and doesn't want to admit it and his fighting skills don't make him any manlier. Also he is everyone's favourite Beater; fucking Henry keeps handling him like he didn't need as much training as anybody else and I know the others would be glad if I left the team, so that they could get two idiots of his kind. Little bastard. No one kicks my face and gets away with it. I will show him what it means to mess with me.

The door creaks. Yes, _the door is creaking_. I search for my wand, but then I remember that I lost it some days ago. Just some other stuff to vex me. I could swear that someone is walking through the room but I can't see a thing. I wished this this damn chesnut wouldn't stand there. The old stone tiles sound hollow under steps that are moving slowly towards me. My pulse raises. Who dares to creep the fuck around here? I sit up but it makes me feel just more defenseless. I still can't see anybody.

“Good evening, Jason.”

The voice is directly next to me. I can feel some breath on my left ear. I turn to the side, but there is no one. It continues.

“How do you feel? After...”

“... this experience?”

Now it is on my right and I turn around so quickly that my neck starts hurting. Still I can't see anybody. Fucking shit, my hands start sweating and the hair in my neck stands up. What's happening here?

“Well, aren't you going to answer me?”

Now on the left again. Someone being invisible is not so unusual, but how can they be at two places at the same time? It's fucking creepy.

“I don't fucking talk to anyone I can't see”, I answer.

There's a hoarse laugh. I swallow. Maybe this is just another dream.

“You know my face well. Nearly better than your own. Even if you haven't seen me in a while, I'm always with you.”

“What the hell do you want from me?”

Whoever this is, they are going to pay for it.

“You do know it, don't you?”

“Who the hell are you?”

My lips are turning dry. I don't have my wand and feel still a little dizzy from the fight and the sleep. If someone attacked me right now, I couldn't really defend myself.

“You know me very well. Once, I've been very important for you. But you forgot about me.”

My head starts to hurt. Who is this? Some ex gone wild? No, that's a male voice.

“As long as I don't know who you are, I can't know if I fucking forgot you”, I say, but my voice shivers so much, that the words are hard to understand. All of this is terrifying. My heart starts hurting, it is beating so fast and then a thought appears to me: This can only be a ghost. Who else could be at several places at ones and know shit about me that I forgot?

“Well, I would say I spent your entire childhood at your side. But then I had to go. Go far away.”

My mouth is dried out. My heart starts beating even faster than before, as the realisation hits in.

“Dad?”

“Yes.”

My brain feels completely emptied. This can't be happening. This must be some kind of hoax, why would he visit me after all these years and then at this place and time? That doesn't make any sense.

“I would like to ask you something; was this thing today really necessary?”

“What thing... was necessary?”, I ask.

“Don't pretend that you don't know what I am talking about. Do you think he deserved it?”

I swallow and think of how great it felt to press the air out of the idiot's throat.

“I don't know.”

“Would you do it again?”

His voice is so cold, without any emotions. I haven't thought of him in such a long while... I want him to say something nice to me, not this shit. I always knew he would be back one day, but I never wanted it to happen like this. Not like he would come back as some kind of moral compass telling me how much I did wrong. My voice is quiet.

“I don't know.”

A noise sounds, like a hissing cat. It rips right through me.

“You don't know? What did he do to you? What has he done wrong?”

I stay silent. I don't know what to answer. The guilt burns inside me like fire. Not because of what I did to that kid, but because I can hear, I can feel how disappointed Dad is with me. My head is spinning – the way he is changing his position fucks me up. My hands shiver.

“And, how does it feel? Mighty, superior, justified? Would you do it again, but this time along with you nice, little friends following you? Would you finish him off again, because he did nothing wrong? What a fun! Would you beat him up until he forgot his name? Until he forgot everything?”

My eyes are burning. I want him to shut up about all this and say something like, that he missed me. That he loves me.

“Dad... I... I am so sorry.”

“Oh, and how very sorry you are! One can really see how you're regretting it! What has happened to you, that you turned out like this?”

Everything hurts. I never wanted to disappoint him. Never. I want him to be proud of me. But there's nothing about me anybody and definitely not Dad could be proud of. Maybe, if I tell him that I regret all of this he would be kind again. Friendly, ask about my life and what I am doing instead of frightening the hell out of me. My breath goes unsteadily.

“Dad... please... I'd do anything...”

“Anything?”

There is something like expectation in his voice, but I can't grasp it. I don't understand any of this, I only know that it hurts like shit.

“Really anything?”, he asks.

There is no energy left inside of me. I feel old. I don't really care what is happening any more, it just has to stop, I want him to stop talking about any of this so we can spend some good time with each other.

“Anything.”

“Would you give up you old life?”

I close my eyes. My entire body feels like it is getting burned. I don't want my father to think badly of me. I don't want him to talk to me like this. Why does he have to visit me in this moment, this night? But how would any of what he calls _my old life_ matter any more if I know that he saw all of it. That he can see in every moment what I am doing and hates me so much for all what I did. I know that if this whole thing hurts me, it must hurt him so much more.

“I want to change, please”, I whisper.

“Well, then I have an idea. Will you follow it?”

I hesitate. I don't know what he could want me to do. I can see my childhood in front of my eyes, once again. Those days we spent together. Evenings at the fire, when he read stories to me. The first broomstick he gave me and that I broke long ago. All those afternoons, when we were outside and observed birds. And then the day he just didn't return home.

_“Jason, you have to be strong now.”_

_“What is it, Daddy?”_

_“There is something I have to do this weekend. I'm so sorry, but I can't be there for your birthday.”_

_“What? But you promised!”_

_“I know, I know. I am sorry. But you know that I love you, don't you?”_

_“I love you too.”_

He just never came back. Never. But now he is here, at the worst of all moments. I wonder what he looks like. Of course I know he isn't alive any more, I know they fished him out of the river, but if he is a ghost he must still look like himself, even though his voice is different. I would love to hug him once, after all this time.

“I'd do anything.”

What I hear then takes away my breath. I have no idea whether I can do any of this. I have no idea whether I want to do it and now I understand why he asked whether I would leave my old life behind. Because if I do this, everything is going to change. But this is my Dad. And when he comes back after all these years and he sees the shit I have become, I owe him this one thing. I need to show him how much I have missed him and how much I love him.

Every single damn day.


	4. Part Four: Yeah, no, erm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite trigger-free, I think. :) Just some... let's call it pre-relationship angst? Or pining.

1 – Quentin

We leave the Hospital Wing and my head feels weirdly light. All of tonight seems so unreal to me, like it was happening in a book that I was reading, and in some way the missing certainty that any of this is actually happening and that I am not making it up, frees me in an unknown way. Who cares what happens from now on? Maybe it is not even real. Maybe I could do whatever the hell I wanted, without facing any consequences.

The grin won't leave my face while we walk down the corridor in front of the Hospital Wing as quietly as possible so Jason and nobody else will hear our steps. The plan worked. We were able to set Jason under so much pressure that he is going do what we want him to. How big were the chances that even one step of the plan was going to work? They must be about as big as the possibility to see Tim cry in front of me and find the guts to hug him within one and the same hour.

I can feel Tim's hand on my shoulder, he put it there so we would know where the other one was – after all we are still invisible. As we enter the corridor that leaves away from the Hospital Wing, I can hear how a little giggle leaves his mouth, it sounds as if he has tried to hold it back for too long.

“It worked, it fucking worked, Quen!”, he whispers excitedly and sounds so happy.

“Pssh”, I make, “maybe he can still hear us.”

“I think he is more occupied by his own thoughts and to think about what the hell just happened than to listen closely to what's happening outside.”

“Still”, I say and the grin in my voice is not to be overheard.

In the next moment, we are already running. Running to our dorm, away, away from this place and to be honest, we are not really paying attention to making our steps sound as quietly as possible. The whole tension that held me during the scene in the Hospital Wing disappears from my mind and body. I haven't run like this in years, but I bet Tim has, with all of his training, and I can feel how none of this is really healthy for my heart or my legs. My lungs start hurting after some minutes, but I feel so much energy flooding through my veins that it doesn't really matter to me. Tim's hand has left my shoulder shortly after we started running and I can feel it in mine.

My head is going to explode by all the thoughts that are crossing my mind, the sheer absurdity of the situation, and the idea that tomorrow is going to be nothing but a normal school day almost makes me laugh. I don't really feel like a student any more, or at least not like I was able to sit in a class room and simply listen to the teacher after all that has happened tonight. None of this feels like me or my life, but like a dream and for a moment I am afraid that I am going to wake up.

We are speeding down the floors and staircases and are moving towards the Slytherin common room and there is nothing in the air but our flying steps and coughing breaths. There must be people, students, lying in their beds right now, asleep, and this seems so ridiculous. I can't imagine how I could be able to sleep before the morning. There isn't much time left until it anyway.

Shortly before we are about to turn left to enter the floor that leads to our common room, Tim's grip around my hand intensifies and he pulls me behind a curtain on the wall. Behind it there is a small chamber, in one corner there are some brooms and buckets and a tiny window, through which falls some light. I had no idea that this place existed, but I am not surprised that he does. I let go of his hand, lean against the wall and try to catch some breath, my throat hurts in the best way and I slide down until I sit on the floor.

“What the –“, I gasp.

“Why... did you...”, Tim coughs, “start fucking running?”

“I... didn't – you did”, I say and hold my side.

“What? No... why... would I?”

For some seconds there is nothing but us catching some air, then I can see how Tim grows visible again. He shows me to stand up and I do, although I still don't exactly trust my legs and that they are going to hold me. Tim points his wand at me again and now it feels like a warm liquid runs along my neck. I look at my fingers and see how they are slightly trembling.

“Merlin”, I say, “I really don't think running is my cup of tea.”

He grins.

“Then why did you start?”

“I – I didn't, stop saying so!”, I say and laugh, “I only ran after you.”

He shrugs and doesn't stop grinning like some mad idiot.

“You okay?”, I ask.

“I think so, yeah. Even though I think pulled some muscles”, he laughs.

For a moment, none of us says something. I realise that this place really is damn small, and that I can feel some of his breath against my chin. He seems even smaller than usual, since we are standing so close together and I notice he has to pull his head back a bit to look into my eyes. He puts a curl out of my face, gently, with two fingers. I can't remember when was the last time I felt this terribly gangly.

“Uhm”, I make and shortly, he looks like he is about to step away from me.

I am about to curse under my breath, why did I have interrupt this moment, but then I sense that he only moved closer to me. A loose smile hangs on his lips and the part of his teeth that is visible glows against the dark. He moves his hand from my cheek to my neck and the thought shoots through my mind that his fingers are so warm, different from the stone wall my back lies against.

I feel like a stone wall myself, unable to move or to smile or to say something, and my head is full of lights, I can feel that there are thousands of thoughts running through it, but they crash into each other, so that they break apart and only leave white noise behind, so loud. I swallow and then I remember what I was thinking about just some minutes ago – that maybe all of this was a dream and that I should, for once, just do something without thinking about it.

Tim raises up, lifts himself on the tips of his toes and the smile on his face gets a little wary, unsure of how to continue. One of my hands is caught between our bodies, the other hangs loosely by my side and I remove both of them, then lie each onto one of his cheeks as gently as possible and I feel like each of my moves has to look mechanical through and through, like done by a robot. _Stop thinking._

A smile breaks onto my lips and I can see that Tim looks relieved by this reply for a moment, then he moves closer and even though I don't want to, I close my eyes and as his lips crush against mine it seems that hundreds of realisations hit my mind, none of which I can read clearly.

One – he is so close. Two – his hand strikes slowly through my hair. Three – his skin feels so good under my fingers. Four – our noses press into each other's cheeks. Five – his lips are terribly kind and warm and his breath runs along my face. Six – maybe I am too tall. Seven – maybe I am not, the way he has too reach up to me warms my heart. Eight – he is smiling against my lips. Nine – there are so many noises filling the chamber.

Ten – this is exactly where I want to be.

❋❋❋

2 – Timothy

Quen's smell that struck me before is nothing against his taste. There is peppermint toothpaste, softness and warmth and something sleepy yet spicy that I can't put a finger on. The girls that I kissed before have tasted way sweeter and more like fruits or flowers or something similar; lighter. Also I am not used to kiss while the other one has their hands around my cheeks, usually it is me doing this and normally I don't kiss people who are this much taller than me.

It is a slow and careful kiss and yet there is more roughness underneath it than I am used to. I can't say that I don't like it, no. I have to smile and can feel him responding it. Again I am struck by how soft his hair feels against my fingertips. Through my half-opened eyes I can see how comfortable he looks, the frown that lies on his face so often has disappeared. Sensing that he is moving slightly on his feet, I have to smile even more – Fryda and I joke so often that Quen's feelings seem to show only ever in his feet and nowhere else.

Quen moves his hand from my left cheek to my neck and while his fingers touch the back of my hair, he has his thumb pulled against the soft flesh under my jaw. It rips through my mind like thunder – suddenly I have to think of Jason and the way he gripped me, now I can feel other fingers against my throat, choking me. There is a pain around my neck, as if somebody's fingernails were torn into my flesh. The fear that let me alone for some wonderful amount of time pulses through my head again. _Faggot! You're so gay that I'm getting sick of it!_

I abruptly realise what I am doing; this is my best friend I am kissing. Why would I do that. I am not that shocked about the fact that he is a guy, though the understanding that maybe Jason is right about all that he said is growing in the back of my head, biting through my mind. But this is Quen and he is my friend, _friend_ , so where are all those romantic feelings tonight coming from and also this is fucking _Quen_. Why would he respond to this kiss? Just yesterday I would have betted all I had that he would pull away in such a situation as quickly as possible, but no, now he seems to enjoy it.

My mind starts racing and I feel suddenly so confused with myself and the fact that a moment before this kiss was all that I ever wanted to happen. Too much has happened tonight, that must be it. I am out of my mind because of the fight and the way Quen took care of me and because of how we made Jason pay for all he did – this must be it, there can't be any other reason that I wanted this to happen other than being completely overwhelmed with this entire night and need to sleep.

I pull away and the hopeful and a bit shy smile on Quen's face almost breaks my heart. He must have started blushing some way through the kiss and to be honest, he looks amazing. But I can't do this, I can't act as if I wanted this as much as him. I can't do any of this as long as I am not entirely sure about my feelings. I swallow hard and move away, blink and hold my eyes closed a bit longer than necessary. He slowly removes his hands from my head as I take away mine from his neck.

“Uhm”, I make and scratch my arm. Merlin, how could I possibly continue.

“Yeah”, he says and grins slightly.

“Sorry”, I murmur and I can see how some of the light in his eyes disappears, his smile drops and I bet this wasn't what he has expected to hear.

“It's... okay”, he says and tries out a new smile.

“Yeah, no, erm”, I stammer.

I feel like an asshole because I know I am ruining all of this for him – for a moment it looked like he has removed all of the walls around his heart and just let himself be who he was. And with every second that goes by I can see how he is building all of them up again. Can see, how much it hurts him to realise that I won't go on with any of this.

 _But you can't deny you liked it,_ teases my mind.

_No, no, I can't._

Something screams inside my head. What the hell am I doing here? What the hell can I do? The panic lets my blood boil, without a second thought I take another step away, which is almost impossible because this chamber is so tiny.

“I'll... uhm... go”, I say and throw the curtain aside.

❋❋❋

3 – Quentin

I stand there totally motionless for several seconds. Don't make a noise, or a movement, because I am not able to. I feel like an animal that was caught and now tries to act as if it was dead so it won't be attacked. My heart must be beating fast, by the way that I am shaking but I simply can't feel it. For a moment I am not even sure whether I can see something. But yes, I _can_ see. I am just not really aware of it.

The curtain is still waving slightly by how much Tim pushed it away. My eyes start tearing up, not because I am frustrated or sad, in fact I am feeling nothing, no, it is the air that is hurting them, drying them out. I forgot to blink and can't really make myself to do it; I am afraid I am going to feel even more lost then. Leaving my eyes open is the only thing that holds me in control, it seems.

_Okay._

This is literally all I think or feel. _Okay_ , I just kissed Tim. Or, well, he kissed me, we kissed each other, shared a kiss, whatever, not a big deal for him apparently. _Okay_ , he was the one who started and then pushed away. _Okay_ , so he just left me here, staring into the air, idiotically. _Okay_ , so what the hell am I supposed to do now? Simply go to the common room, go to bed, sleep and forget everything that has happened tonight? It looks like the only thing that I can do.

I sigh and the sound is too high against the wall. I lift the curtain and walk back to the dorm, slowly.

❋❋❋

4 – Timothy

The common room is deserted as I enter. The great, silver grandfather clock in one corner tells me that it is half past two. Some green fires are still cracking sleepily in the fireplaces and along one of the great windows that face into the sea sails a lonely jellyfish, glowing in the dark. Now I can understand why there are people that say that our common room looks cold – it really does without any people, like the underground base of some crazy lunatics. Empty, in some way, kinda chaotic in another.

Or maybe that is just me. What the fuck is going on tonight. I can't trust my own actions any more, it seems. I hurt my own law that I was never going to beat someone up or at least not kick that person while they are already lying on the floor. Also I would have never before even thought of hurting someone so unscrupulously, through triggering a childhood trauma, while actually enjoying it. Only because, when one thought about it on a reasonable level, that person really deserved it. And last, but so not least, I could always trust my instincts when it came to my feelings for somebody. Because I could always rely on the fact that, whatever feelings those were, they would stay that way for some time and changes would take long. I have never experienced this roller coaster ride before.

I _did_ like kissing Quen, I really did. But all the things that where lying beneath that desire to kiss him, like the fact that we were best friends, that nothing similar has ever happened between us before and now all of it bombarded us in one night, makes me so confused that I don't know what to think. And this terrifies me, because usually I have no problems with having clear opinions on something – it is more that those used to be too clear, too extreme. Stubborn, that is what I am according to Fryda and my sister. Whatever I feel, that I feel strongly and for some good amount of time and carry it into the world.

Now my feelings are pulling me in all sorts of directions at once and it is terribly unsettling because yes, I just want to kiss him again, but this is Quen and he never seemed to be interested in someone before and the mere thought that he is would be enough to serve my curiosity for days. And the fact that it is me is flattering, sure, but Quen is so quirky that I never know what to make of him and definitely not when it comes to topics like this.

Even if I responded to the kiss well, or would have kissed him again or would have shown some, let's call it, _appreciation_ for what was happening, I still would have no idea about his feelings about it. The damn wall around his inside, the wall I helped to rebuild with pulling away. Maybe he would have been the one to cut the kiss, if it hadn't been me. And that would leave me in the position that I liked it, but felt like he didn't, which is probably exactly where Quen is right at the moment. In whatever direction I try to think, my brain seems to become even more puzzled. I don't understand why I did what I did and I don't understand why he did what he did, I have no idea what I am supposed to feel or what he was feeling and most of all I don't understand what is going to happen from now on.

Merlin, I need to sort all of this out, I really do. The way I left him was so totally and utterly rude that I feel ashamed of myself. Those are not my methods, damn it, what am I turning into? A Jason 2.0? Who just drops people whenever he feels like it, without explaining anything? I can almost hear Fryda's voice in my head. _Communication is the key. Fucking talk to each other, people, or you are never going to understand._ She is so right.

I make my way to our dorm and sit down down on my bed, feeling a little sick. I am going to wait for Quen. Well, if he is going to return and won't flee somewhere else. Flee from me. We need to talk and I am not going to let him stay silent as I would normally. I am going to sort all of this out and make everything easier for him and me. Which also means that I should possibly find out at least a bit about my feelings about all of this so any of this conversation is going to make sense.

I let myself fall down to the mattress face-first. Fuck it.

❋❋❋

5 – Quentin

I am standing in front of the door to our dorm and I know Tim must be inside because he was nowhere to be seen in the common room. And I don't suspect he would be anywhere else. I am terrified to enter, because I know that we are going to be alone for some hours then and even if we are going to spend most of this time asleep, there is going to be a next morning and after that another day and another and I wonder whether both of us are just going to forget about what happened.

I raise my hand to the wooden door and before I can think too much about this, I knock shortly and open it. The room is dark. I am trying to stay calm, I really am, but am just not able to. I suppress the need to smile, because I can see him lying on his bed, on his stomach, his face buried in the mattress and every inch of his body tells of complete frustration. It is exactly what I am feeling, this I realise as I look at him now. He turns around and sits up so quickly that he is already standing before I can take another step.

“Yeah, hi”, he says.

I nod.

“Hi.”

“Sorry, I –“, he scratches his forearm, “it's... can we – can we talk or something.”

This is not what I expected, wasn't it him, after all, who ran away before we could even start to say something to each other after the kiss?

“Yeah, okay”, I say and sit down onto my bed, my pulse raising. I don't know if I am going to be able to talk.

Tim lets himself fall back, so that he is sitting again, and he looks so nervous, the way he only does before an important Quidditch match or an exam. I am not moving in the slightest, I am not able to and it stands in complete contrast to the chaos inside my mind, still full white-noise.

“Well... yeah... you know about that. It is – I am sorry I left so quickly. I am just... just so confused by all of this? I think it's all a bit too much for me, all that has happened today. Yeah, I was confused, and that's why I ran away.”

“Mh, okay”, I say, not really sure what to answer because it seems there is so much he wants to say – he should be able to say all of it, before I interrupt him.

“Thing is...”, he continues with an unsure, and, yes, quite cute smile, “all the stuff about Jason, I could... handle somehow? But now, this thing with you, well, I don't want to say that it shocked me, because it wasn't exactly a negative surprise, but still, it was a bit too much to take in that moment.”

“Okay – well”, I make and know that I should say something about it, _speak my mind_ , as everyone wants me to all the time, “I... I thought it was leading to that, because... you went into that chamber and all, and I thought that was kinda your plan? To... kiss me. And you did, so – I thought you'd be okay with it and all?”

Wow, the way we are stammering around this subject makes me feel so awkward that my stomach cringes. All I want is this situation to end as quickly as possible, whatever else I want to happen, I don't know. Anything else.

“Yeah, well, I thought I was. But then you, I don't know, your hand at my neck, uhm...”

He seems to chew on the words, like he wasn't sure whether he should say them, pointing at his throat. Then I realise.

“Oh – shit. You mean”, I point at my own throat, “like him?”

Tim simply nods and looks a little lost.

“That's what kinda... made me start thinking about the situation. And I suddenly felt so weird about it... sorry.”

I nod and try to smile. At least it wasn't my fault. Not exactly.

“It's okay. So – that was all? That was the reason you... left?”

“Mhm, yeah. Pretty much. I don't know...”, he laughs hoarsely and waves with his hands through the air, “...what all this is, so I...”, he takes a breath, “... also don't know how to continue any of it.”

I swallow and wish that there would be a voice inside my head, telling me what to do, telling me what to say to chase away the awkwardness.

“Well, I won't force you to do anything... you don't want to do”, I say because I feel like making him comfortable would help us a lot.

“Thanks, yeah”, he says with a smile.

We stay silent for some moments, trying our hardest not to make our eyes meet.

“Thing is, I also don't really know what I want to do and what I don't... want to do. It is a little confusing, as I said”, he says, searching for words.

“I think I understand, yeah.”

“So... you are also unsure?”, Tim asks and we are kind of looking at each other and not looking at each other at the same time.

“Uhm... not exactly, no.”

“So... you are sure? About... whatever it is that you are thinking”, he says with a shy grin.

“Yes, well... I... liked it?”, I say.

Somebody make a hole appear in the floor through which I can fall into the core of earth. Anything, to escape the gawkiness. His slight grin turns into a whole and along with it appears some blood in his cheeks.

“Ah, okay. It is just... I can't read you very well? So I don't know really what you are feeling or thinking until you say it. Yeah.”

“Oh, that is the old story, isn't it?”, I ask, “that I should talk more about my emotions and all of this?”

He chuckles.

“Basically, yes.”

“Well, I don't know, but I thought I showed... what I was... thinking.”

“You were, yes. Merlin, I don't know, you showed it more than you usually do. Actually, there was not really room left for questions, because it was relatively clear? It's just... I don't know what to make of any of this and before I am not sure, I feel like lying to you whatever I say?”

“Mhm, well, as I said, I understand”, I scratch at a knuckle of my finger and realise that is the only motion I made in the last minutes. He is right – it must be hard for him to guess any of my emotions when I don't even move. But if he could see inside my head, he would see that it is so much happening in there. Through the white noise shoots a thought. _Just shut up and become sure of that you want to kiss me again._

“And then again I have to think that maybe Jason was right about what he said”, he says.

I meet his eyes, his lashes are trembling and it is so strange to see him with so little self-confidence. Even when he was crying some hours ago, there laid so much certainty in the sadness and pain, like he was sure that this was the worst of all days and when we were running away from Jason, he was so full of joy; again in his own, complete, hundred-percent way. He is never torn between different opinions for long, and seeing him so, as he said himself, confused, is such a weird thing.

“Which... makes me wonder again whether any of what we did was justified”, he continues.

“I mean... even if it was true, what he said, I mean, that wouldn't make his actions any better. Maybe worse, even. And I thought you were okay with the plan, because there were so many others he has harmed in the past?”, I say.

Tim shrugs.

“Yes, yes, it is just that I still have not completely understood how big the consequences of this are going to be. Like, will he actually tell his friends and will his friends stay quiet about it or not and are there going to be rumours tomorrow and stuff.”

“I think we can only wait and see.”

He nods and I nod along and feel again like a robot mirroring his movements.

“Well, I used to be really afraid of what comes tomorrow, earlier this evening, but now I am not any more, I think? Just excited”, and he is grinning again.

I can feel how the sight of the coming day that could hold so many new surprises makes him grow more stable again, it is like a pulse running through him steadily.

“Me too. I think it would be best if as many people as possible talked about it, right?”

“Mhm, I guess too. But it also makes me think... it is like we are using gay as an insult?”

“Not exactly, I mean, we are only using it to destroy the life he used to have and in the end it is only going to turn against him when there are enough homophobic people in Hogwarts. Also –“, I loosely point at him, “it was pretty much our only chance to do something about, well, making him shut up.”

“Yeah, okay, still... was it the best of all plans? I dunno”, he chuckles, “I feel like we didn't think everything through, did we? Fryda would have thought of something better, wouldn't she?”

I laugh because that was what I have been thinking about just a moment before.

“But she wasn't around.”

“No, she wasn't”, he pauses and blushes, “which is maybe better after all that happened tonight. Like, at some points she would have... disturbed the atmosphere? Merlin”, he wipes across his forehead.

“Probably”, I say and then I have to chuckle.

Other than to break through the weirdness of the moment I also do this because I have to think of all the Muggle films in which I would be in the position to say something along the lines of _I'm glad none of the others are in the dorm tonight too_ right now.

“What's so funny?”, Tim asks, just as I expected.

“Nothing.”

“Mhm. You know what Fryda would say right now? Communication –”, he starts.

“Communication is the key, I know. Well, if you want to know –“, I say and tell him, because why should I make his confusion worse.

It takes a moment for Tim to change his expression, but when he does, his face glows of his cheeky grin. What I thought was expectation for tomorrow, beating through his veins, seems now to grow and Merlin, maybe I am just too tired, but it feels like it is moving towards me, like he was trying to pull me into it, trying to make me feel comfortable and well.

“Ah, well, yeah, now I understand why you laughed”, he says.

“Yeah.”

I know it is my move now, maybe, probably, surely, but I can't bring myself to do anything other but stare at him and see the way he looks back.

“Well”, he says.

“Mh?”

“We could make use of that somehow... that they're away, I mean.”

I nibble at my knuckle again, because all of this sounds so terribly scripted to me. Which doesn't mean that I don't like how it sounds. It is just that Tim's change of mind happened so quickly; just half an hour ago he has seemed to be willing to forget everything that has occurred between us. I try not to think about that, because it would push me again into loops of evaluation out of which I couldn't get away quickly enough to not let this moment go by.

Slowly, carefully, awkwardly, I stand up and sit down next to him, like earlier this night. The fact how completely different that situation was makes my head spin. He looks at me and his face, a mix of an expecting smile and a self-conscious pair of raised eyebrows, makes me even more nervous than I am already. If anyone had told me just some hours ago that any of this was going to happen, I would have thrown some sarcastic answer at them.

A pause appears as I take off my shoes and for a moment I have to think that nobody ever thinks of taking off their shoes before climbing onto somebody's bed in those Muggle films. But after all I am neither a Muggle nor a character in one of their films nor do I want to make his bed dirty. I shove my shoes away from his bed and kneel onto the mattress. Now there is more of anticipation than anything else in Tim's face.

“Quen?”, he whispers.

“Yeah – I mean, if it is okay.”

“I think it is very okay, yes”, he laughs shortly, “well, my mind is spinning in weird circles, and I don't really know what is going on, but it is relatively clear to me. What I want right now, I mean”, he murmurs while moving closer.

“If you want to keep on talking, just do”, I say and grin.

“Ah, no, it's okay, I don't have to”, he says and laughs.

“Well, then”, I murmur.

His eyes are still, it seems, the only colourful thing in the room. Or at least they are all that I can see. And as our lips meet and I reach out for him with my hands I try my best not to touch any of his throat, there was enough of pulling apart for tonight and I couldn't stand him running away again. I can't help me thinking that the first kiss should have been this way already, soft, but growing passionate, more confident quickly, making it sure that both of us wanted this – it would have saved us from a lot of awkwardness. A lot. Of. Awkwardness.

My last thought before I shut my mind out is that it seems like I have made the decision that I felt I needed to make so badly this evening. I chose and decided against pushing apart my feelings, chose acting and telling and talking for once instead of closing it away, and it looks like at least this time it was worth the risk. If Fryda will try talking to me tomorrow to find out what is wrong with me, she will find that everything is as all right as it could be.


	5. Part Five: Then, talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers, hey! If you don't count shattered cups as a trigger. Enjoy!

1 – Fryda

Throughout the beginning of the Charms lesson I am more or less unable to concentrate. There is still to much rage flooding through me and I don't notice at first that everyone is standing up to get teacups from Professor Flitwick's desk.

“You okay, Fryda?”, I hear Quen ask me and my mind focusses on the room again.

“Yeah, yeah”, I murmur and take the blue cup he is holding out for me, “thanks.”

Quen sits down next to me again and the next minutes go by in a little chaos, as every group, made of two students each, is trying to get hold on two teacups, a blue and a red one and searches in their books for the right pages. All of it happens in front of my eyes in a blur. I wonder whether Stacy and Scarlett are going to be late to this class or whether they are not going to appear at all. Probably the second; that way Professor Flitwick won't write down that they were unpunctual, only that they were ill. It would be easy for them to go to the second lesson without that the other teacher notices they haven't been there for the first. Also – that way they have enough time to discuss on a long rant all of my behaviour.

Quen snaps his fingers in front of my eyes.

“Are you sure you are all right? You seem a bit angry.”

I laugh, trying to shake it off.

“Is this honestly you? Or is this somebody else who took control over Quentin Nall's body?”

“It's not like I don't notice whether someone is okay or not”, he says and grins.

I am surprised by the fact that he is in such a good mood. Just yesterday he seemed to be so down, like he was thinking something through – I was a little worried about him. But now it looks like I don't have any reason to be that any more. The smile on his face is bright and reaches his eyes and there is something around his shoulders that makes him look so relaxed. Even his cheeks are redder than usual. Something good must have happened to him.

“Alright. So – what is the task, I didn't listen.”

“We have these cups and are supposed to perform some Switching Spells on them”, he says and makes it sound like the best thing that could happen.

“Okay, what kind of Switching Spells?”, I ask.

“Partial ones. We should try to make these little triangles on the blue one and the circles on the red one”, he points at them, “switch. So that there are going to be red teacups with triangles and blue teacups with circles on them in the end.”

“Ah, okay.”

The way he smiles ever so brightly lifts me a bit from the pit of anger that Stacy and Scarlett pushed me into. Yes, speaking out against them made me feel very satisfied, but it was gritted-teeth satisfaction, not a comfortable one. I am glad that Quen gives me a reason to act normally again.

“Do you want to try first?”, he asks.

“No, you can start.”

And for the next five minutes he tries out several Switching Spells that could make what Professor Flitwick is asking for happen. I pay closer attention to the light in Quen's eyes and the way he looks concentrated, but unstrained at the same time. He is quite good at Charms and the professor likes to call us _his champion group_ , because usually one of us two is the first of the class to perform new spells. Normally though, Quen succeeds with a frown on his face and while shutting away everything around him and he would get snappy when I tried to ask him something while he is trying out spells.

Only it seems today that he is handling it different – sure, he has a determined look on his face and doesn't chat around like most other students in the class, but he is talking to me. Not actually talking, but he makes little comments like, _oh, don't try out this one, it doesn't really work_ and _. It confuses me a lot, to say the least. After he has tried out five different spells, I can't hold myself back any longer._

“Okay, now, I know you hate it when I do this, but what the hell happened? Yesterday you were in the shittiest mood ever and today, I don't know, you just called this cup _cheeky little thing_ because it refused to change?”

I hear a laugh behind me.

“Really? Merlin, Quen, behave yourself”, Tim says from his table, where a loud shattering sounds after his partner, Lorcan, made both of the cups run into each other.

Quen grins and turns around to Tim.

“Shut up! At least I haven't done any damage to our cups so far.”

Tim raises his hands in defence and grinning, he points at the floor with his wand, repairing his teacups.

“It is all Lorcan's fault”, he demands.

“Oh, now, come on!”, Lorcan says, but he is laughing too.

Quen is already trying out a new spell and I turn around to him again. As I see how he only blushed more after this conversation, my smile drops and I press together my eyes until they are almost closed. I must look like an idiot, but I can't help myself expressing my confusion other than this way. Something is going on here and I am not part of it.

I will not try to push Quen, I know that nothing will come out of him that way. But I need to know what is happening. For the rest of the lesson I try to concentrate on handling the teacups and half of the time I seek for a solution of this task myself, the other half I observe him, while he is trying to make the patterns switch.

Five minutes before the class is going to end, Professor Flitwick starts walking around the room, checking how far each group got. As he comes by our table, he starts frowning, which makes him look like an angry little gnome.

“Nothing so far from you, Miss Nwosu?”, he asks, while I am trying my best.

“No, sorry.”

“And you, Mister Nall – were you able to succeed?”

“Not exactly, no.”

Professor Flitwick shakes his head and for a moment I grow angry again; instead of looking at us like this he should give us an easier task or some tips.

“But you went through all the spells that are available?”

“Yeah”, Quen begins, “Wait – no.”

He checks his list of the Switching Spells.

“Shit – sorry, Professor – I think we missed this one.”

“Then try it out, I will collect all cups in two minutes”, Professor Flitwick says.

“Okay”, I say, looking at the spell Quen is pointing at.

It is the sixth on the list.

“Merlin, that's when Tim interrupted us”, he says, more to himself than to me.

“Then, come one, use it”, I say.

Usually I would think of nothing else now but to make the spell work, maybe I would try it out myself so that I would succeed before Quen, when we are in a rush at the end of the lesson, both of us tend to be competitive. But now I just let him work it out, I can hear how he speaks the spell over and over again and there it is again, his usual, concentrated frown. I have to admit, that I'm paying more attention to building a strategy I am going to use on him right after this; the lesson is about to end and I _am going_ to talk to him then.

“Oh, wait”, I can hear Tim behind me.

I turn my head to him and Lorcan and then I realise that they are starting to try out the same spell. Quen must have noticed too, because he is speaking faster and swings his wand quicker.

“Come on”, I murmur because we can't let the other two win.

Not after they spent pretty much the entire lesson talking to each other about the chances of each team to win the upcoming Quidditch match Slytherin against Ravenclaw. Instead of them, we actually worked hard during this lesson. I stare at our teacups and then there are little triangles on the red cup and circles on the blue one and all tension leaves my body. I slam my hand on our table.

“Yeah!”, I shout before I can hold myself back and give Quen a high five, which he returns.

“You were a bit too slow, sorry”, he says to Tim and Lorcan with a huge grin.

“Next time we are going to win”, Tim answers with his index finger raised into the air.

“Right, sure”, I say and laugh.

Professor Flitwick comes to our table, without doubt he has heard our joy, and nods approvingly at our work.

“I knew you could do it. Ten points for Slytherin.”

“Well, now I can't really say anything against this”, Tim says and laughs.

Professor Flitwick ends the lesson with a short monologue about how he thinks that Switching Spells are going to play an important role in this year's OWLs and I make a mental note on this. As he ends the lesson, everyone collects their materials and stuffs the teacups into a case on the professor's desk. I let my quill fall into my bag and tip at Quen's shoulder.

“You will not get away from me, you know?”, I say. “I want an explanation and I think you owe me one.”

He gives me a shy smile.

“An explanation for what?”

“Well, for yesterday, but even more for today and definitely for whatever happened in between because your mood couldn't have changed randomly like that.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I am stunned and for a moment I don't say anything.

“Wait – so you are going to tell me about all of this, without receiving any death threats from me? Or The Look?”

“Yep. Without The Look today”, he says and points at his eyes.

“But I am going to miss The Look!”

He grins and points to the door.

“Do you want to talk right now?”

“Wow. Honestly, I need to hear everything because you never want to talk _right now_.”

Quen shrugs and there it is again, the shy smile on his lips. I am even more confused than I was five minutes ago.

“Yeah, well”, he says and puts his Charms book into his bag.

We walk towards the door of the class room and Tim reaches up to us.

“So... you're the winners again, aren't you?”, he asks, “ _My champion group_ ”, he says, impersonating Professor Flitwick.

“Yes. We actually deserved that win, Tim”, I answer.

“You probably did, yeah”, he says and grins. “We have Potions now, right?”

“Yep”, answers Quen, “but Fryda wants to talk first.”

A smirk steals onto Tim's lips.

“I think talking is necessary, yes.”

“Wait – so you know what's up with him?”, I ask.

“I do, yeah”, Tim says and I can see how the two are getting even redder in the face, trying not to look at each other.

“Then, talking”, Quen says and stops by a window that is surrounded by two stone walls that build a corner around it, a bit away from the public eye.

It sounds like I am going to listen more than I am going to talk, but I think I have nothing against it.


	6. Epilogue: I feel there is a story behind this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no triggers in this chapter, except someone finds older brothers triggering. :D

1 – Quentin

The sun is burning from the sky and makes everything glitter in green, the sky shines in a bright blue and no clouds are to be seen anywhere. The temperatures raised higher than ever before this year and the smell in the air tells of the coming summer. The school year in Hogwarts is over, today the train goes back home and everyone is busy with packing their bags, though most would much rather lie at the lake or play a good game of Quidditch. Everywhere there is activity, in the dorms and common rooms, old sweets and library books are being found under cupboards, or some quills somebody has searched for the whole year.

Groups of students are running around with huge list of found and missing things, trying to help out. Just yesterday I found a copy of a book on the Hungarian Quidditch teams in the nineteenth century and under much protest of Tim I handed it out to one of those groups. And yes, I was not even surprised, that, as the same group appeared in our common room again a few hours later, he asked for it and they gave it to him. It is not like he would ever throw a look into it anyway, but I guess he simply did it to give me a triumphant smile as he packed it into his trunk.

But not only the dormitories and common rooms are getting tidier, also the class rooms turn visibly more colourful as the dust disappears from the surfaces of closets, floors and walls. The Great hall is getting prepared too, for the last lunch this year – yesterday Hufflepuff won the house cup (deserved it, they by more than seventy points over Slytherin) and still all of the hall is painted in yellow and black.

Besides the soon holidays, another topic fills all conversations of the people in our year – the reports of the OWLs, which won't be sent until some time during the holidays. Some people and no, _of course not Fryda_ , are already getting worked up about it because they are not able to wait a bit longer. As if the results would change, the more time it took until the students receive them. I am relatively relaxed about it, I know that I did okay and that's all to feed my curiosity for at least some other weeks.

All seventh graders, like Tim's sister or Fryda's older brother, are leaving Hogwarts for the last time and have to say goodbye. I saw a girl yesterday who started crying in front of Professor Vector because she never took Arithmancy classes and maybe she would have loved it, but now she didn't have any chance to learn it any more. Professor Vector, a bit flattered and really confused at the same time, simply replied that there were a lot of books about it and courses adults could take.

In our dorm there are only three people right now since Marcus has to clean the Transfiguration class room without magic as detention (long story short: He drew a beard on a painting of an old woman) and Gus, as the prefect, is part of a group that walks around the castle to find out whether somebody isn't using the confusion to break any rules. That means that the only ones besides me in here are Steve, who is transporting broken quills, old boxes and parchment from under his bed to his trunk and Tim, throwing everything he can find into his suitcase.

I am lying on my bed, reading a book my brother gave me for my birthday; I've started packing days ago because I have no desire to be stressed during my last hours here. Last year I made the mistake to wait until the last day to pack my things and forgot a lot which had to be sent after me. But not now; this time I am watching the chaos from a calm point of view, a little amused and relieved not to be part of it.

Tim turns around to me.

“Quen, do you have any idea where my green exercise book is, the one I always use to –“

“On the wardrobe?”, I ask.

“Merlin, why should it be on the wardrobe?”, he says with a puzzled look.

“If you didn't notice, I am taking Divination”, I answer with a grin.

He laughs.

“Yeah, right, I forgot.”

“Actually, I remember that two weeks ago you threw it up there because you were happy that exams were over”, I explain.

“Honestly?” He nods approvingly at me.

“Yep.”

“What would I do if I didn't have access to your brains”, he says grinning, after he reached up to the wardrobe and did find the book there.

“That I wonder too”, I say.

Without another second going by, Tim throws the book at me, it hits my shoulder and falls down to the floor. I calmly lay my book aside.

“Were you aiming for my face?”

“Actually, yes”, he says a little embarrassed, “you deserved it.”

“And you say you are the reason Slytherin won the Quidditch cup, eh?”, I say and grin, because we did – only narrowly followed by Gryffindor.

“Oh, shut up”, he says and laughs.

Tim gives Steve's back a look – he is lying under his bed to get hold of something beneath it – and then he makes a step towards me and without sending a warning, he starts ruffling my hair. I try to roll away from him and almost fall from the bed, desperately running my fingers over my head to bring some order into my hair again, but it doesn't really work; he is too good at destroying any regulation that lies beneath it. I bet I must look like some exploded bird now, strands of hair standing into every direction. Of course Tim is having a good laugh.

“Honestly, you deserved it”, he says under his breath.

“Did I?”, I say, trying to put a curl out of my eye.

“Yep, you did. Look at your face.”

He giggles so hardly that he has to sit down next to me.

“Sorry, it's just”, he points at my head.

“Seriously?”

Steve rose from under his bed. He is a weird guy; with the hair that covers almost all of his face and the ever-present superior smirk around his lips. Not to mention his habit to spend most of his nights outside of the dorm and most of his days outside of the class room, whatever he is doing then. Wherever he goes he looks a bit like the villain in a children's book, the dark, unfriendly teenage boy.

“Guys, if you both start kissing now, you better leave before I have to throw up.”

My throat cramps for a moment, but the comment doesn't hit me, not really. I am in such a good mood today because the summer holidays are near and I won't let it be destroyed.

“Okay, come on”, Tim says with snapping his tongue before I can answer something.

I give him a thankful look, then a smile appears on Tim's lips and I know he is about to say something quite stupid.

“You know, it is not like kissing does it for us us any more.”

Steve looks from me to Tim and back and I can feel how my face is burning.

“Oh, fucking hell, spare me the details, please”, he says.

As Steve pulls his head under his bed again, Tim throws a wink at me and it is not like this takes the blood out of my face. It feels more like it was bathing in lava, but well, that's okay, I guess. I smile back at him and grab my book.

❋❋❋

2 – Fryda

I sigh loudly as I let myself fall down on the seats in our train department. Finally, the year is over and soon I am going to drive away from all the stress that school put onto me, away from homework and classes and exams and OWLs and all the things that kept me from being relaxed and just going my way during the last months. Summer holidays are waiting, weeks during which, I am sure, I am sometimes going to wonder what the hell I should do because there is going to be nothing else but days filled with sleep and sunshine and swimming and letting my mind trail far away.

I look out of the window, where the Hogsmeade station shows in its old and dirty, yet charismatic way, and there are still students walking towards the train. Two things I always wonder about when it comes to this day – how it is possible that nobody will be forgotten because they tried to go to the toilet and when the come back the train has left or because they were simply to slow or because all of their friends thought they would be in a different apartment. And, secondly, how this little train, with so few wagons, is able to hold such masses of students and let them survive until King's Cross, without anybody dying from explosions (fun, Tim would call it) or fights over sweets, or things that went wrong this year.

Quen sits down in front of me and smiles, I know that he is excited for the holidays, as always. I think he likes the free time and also being by himself for a bit. Right now he is desperately trying to press down his hair at the one sight of his head, where it stands away – I bet that was Tim again, ruffling through his hair.

All the endless little fights they are getting into, old married couple fights to be honest, always result in Quen's hair looking like a bird's nest. Tim usually leaves those wars without a scratch, but that is only because Quen tries to bring him down with tons of sarcasm instead of turning physically against him. If I didn't know that these fights are not to be taken serious, I would probably be annoyed of them by now, but it is kind of entertaining to watch.

“Yo”, Tim says as he enters the department. “Sorry, somebody spilled some kind of liquid over the floor and there are masses of people standing around. Was a little hard to fight myself through.”

“But you made it in the end and that's all that counts”, I say and point at him.

“Exactly”, he says and returns the pointing with his own index fingers.

Quen shoves the department doors closed.

“I have to say, I am tired”, Tim says. “Excited, but tired.”

“Yeah, well, when you spend the entire night cackling about how many new things you got from the control groups, how are you supposed to get some sleep?”, Quen says.

“What stuff did you get this year?”, I ask.

Tim starts counting with his fingers.

“A quill that writes in glittering blue, some black ink, a bracelet with something that looks like a shark's teeth, a book about the Hungarian Quidditch teams from the nineteenth century”, he says and leans forward to Quen, who rolls his eyes, “and something that I think used to be a Chocolate Frog card.”

“And you are keeping that? Some trash? I mean the Chocolate Frog card.”

“Yeah, well, there is something on it that looks like blood and it spilled over the face of good ol' Snivellus Snape and I quite like that”, Tim explains grinning.

“Whatever makes the _saviour of Slytherin_ look like an idiot is good enough for all of us, I guess”, Quen says.

“Yeah. And anything about beautiful, amazing, great Hungarian Quidditch players”, Tim says.

“Shut up”, Quen says.

I laugh.

“I feel there is a story behind this”, I say.

Quen sighs and starts pressing his hair to his head again.

“There is and Tim likes it way too much.”

The smile on Tim's face stretches from ear to ear.

“I sure do! Because it is the memory of a win!”, he answers and raises an arm to the sky, like he was holding up a sword or his wand.

Quen puts his hand on Tim's face to make him shut up.

“As I said, he likes that story way too much”, he says towards me.

“Ah, I see”, I answer and grin.

Yes, this is truly entertaining. And though they mostly use the same methods to win an argument there are always surprising new twists and turns and new ideas how to bring the other one down. That must be the Slytherin part in them – we just can't stand winning two fights the same way, no, we need something original because otherwise it would feel like we tried too little. Maybe Tim likes to mess through Quen's hair to annoy him, but the next moment he is going to have an idea how he can win that he never had before. And Quen might be surprised by that for a moment, but then he thinks of an unexpected argument and turns the entire fight around for his own goods. And on it goes.

I guess that is their way to communicate with each other, this competitive atmosphere that lies within all their conversations and runs like an excited pulse through them. But there are two sides to this coin. In no time, they are going to act all lovely around each other again, and there is going to be something so calm and comfortable around them that one could get jealous. I enjoy seeing them this happy far too much to become that, though.

Before this year, I have never really thought about the possibility that my two best friends could be together one day. It is not like I sometimes I hadn't imagined it, but I never took that thought very seriously. And now they are, and it came unexpected at first, especially since I would have thought that Quen would open up enough to even get into any relationship, but now they have been a couple for some months and it looks good on both of them. I had some trouble imagining that they could get along with each other for more than a few weeks at first, since they are both so different people, but then again they have been best friends for years.

Like their fights, their relationship is balanced and whatever happens between them, they manage to sort it out soon enough. Tim lets Quen have his quiet time, lets him have his own thoughts and room and is better at staying relaxed about it than I am. And Quen keeps calm about Tim's endless monologues about pranks and Quidditch strategies – and all the girls that, no matter Tim is taken now, are still trying to flirt with him. Yes, they are doing well with each other.

Well is maybe the wrong word; more than ever before, they are a team and will fight through everything. Whenever they are doing partner projects, everyone can try all that they want to receive better results than them, but no one will succeed. And, needless to say, they always win against me when it comes to weekend plans or similar.

It is not like much has changed about they way they act around each other or me though. There are just a few details that are different now, yet those are noticeable. The kissing, of course, or, for example, the two seem to communicate so much with each other that sometimes I hear about things they planned only right before they are about to happen – they simply forget that they have to inform me too sometimes. That way I am these days less of a net that is trying to hold all of us together, trying to make everybody talk to each other, but nothing more than a simple friend in a friend group of three. And I quite like that, it means less efforts to me and more time to relax and takes the work part out of the fun.

Around an hour after the train left Hogsmeade, it knocks on our door and Tim stands up to open. It is Henry Lesqieu, the Quidditch captain of Slytherin.

“Hi, uhm”, he starts.

“Sit down”, I say.

“Yeah”, he does and turns to Tim, “you know that now that Jason has finished school we need a second Beater, besides you of course, and all of the others, and I, think that it is only fair after all that happened, that you have the last say on whoever gets the job.”

“Thanks”, Tim says hesitantly.

“I mean, we won't start casting another one until the beginning of the next school year, but just that you know already”, Henry says and looks terribly uncomfortable, shifting on his seat.

“Okay, thank you”, Tim answers, still, what seems, a little surprised.

“Yep, that was about it”, Henry says and stands up again, which looks a little silly because he sat down for about five seconds.

He leaves the department quickly and Tim raises his eyebrows.

“This is honestly the very first time any of them mentions the thing about Jason”, he says, with something that is probably supposed to be an amused smirk, but doesn't really look like it.

“Really?”, I ask.

“Assholes. How is that supposed to help you now?”, Quen says.

Tim shrugs.

“No idea. You are right, they are assholes. Or at least they were as long Jason was around, they were too afraid of him. I dunno”, he shrugs again, “if I didn't like Quidditch that much I would have quit already.”

“Are you sure you want to stay?”, I ask.

“Are you serious? Of course, this is fucking Quidditch and also I won the cup for them, knocking that Gryffindor Chaser over with a Bludger when he was about to goal.”  
“Ah, you won't shut up about it, will you?”, Quen says and grins.

“Nope”, Tim answers and kisses him, “Not really.”

Marius pushes his head through the door, which is still open.

“Hi, little sister”, he says to me and throws a side glance at Quen and Tim kissing, “Do you have any idea whether I was about to pick Runes back at third grade because those idiots”, he points outside, probably into the direction of the department of his friends, “won't shut up about it. I wasn't was I?”

“You are asking me?”, I say, “But yeah, I remember. You didn't know whether to take Care of Magical Creatures or Runes. You asked basically everybody about it.”

He frowns.

“Did I? Merlin, I completely forgot. Thanks anyway.”

“Yeah... I guess”, I say slowly.

“Okay, then, I can't believe this is the last time I am on this train”, he sighs and looks out of the window, “I am almost tearing up.”

I laugh.

“Wait until you get your report card, then you'll have a reason to.”

Marius shrugs.

“I guess, yeah. Not everyone is such a teacher's pet as you are, sweet darling sister”, he mocks.p > “Now”, I wave him away, “Shut up and go back to your friends.”

He raises his hands.

“Uh, sorry, didn't know I was interrupting somebody”, he again looks at the boys who are still occupied with each other, “actually it looks like I am. See you, then!”

And off he goes. I close the door and look at both, shaking my head.

“Don't you forget to breathe”, I say.

Something like a chuckle comes out of Tim's mouth, but it also could have been an insult. Well, who am I to interrupt them? Who am I to be _able_ to interrupt them? Grinning, I sit down and look outside the windows, where hills and lakes are flying away.

Yes, I think this was a good year for all of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and here it ends. I hope you liked it! Please tell me what you are thinking, because I love to hear about people's opinion on this fanfiction, since I have so many thoughts about it myself. There is also a [photo set](http://41.media.tumblr.com/52690eee6b6eb0baf4dc58f1fd10743b/tumblr_ntpg6v8Y4s1tvgsxeo1_500.png) for this fic, if you are interested.
> 
> Additionally, I would like to thank [Lucy](http://cvokhauz.tumblr.com) for beta-reading this and being so supportive. I won't forget how we spent hours lying on your bed, reading through this and talking about it afterwards – I had never expected that we would even be in the same country one day. And thank you so much for the [fanart](http://patronusbro.tumblr.com/post/128484156565/the-main-characters-of-my-fanfiction-straying) you did on this (anybody – look at it, because it is pretty much how I imagine the characters).


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